


You've Hungered For This All Your Life

by karelian



Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Les Misérables RPF, Master and Commander RPF, X-Men RPF
Genre: #youknowwhoyouare, Blow Jobs, Declarations Of Love, Dirty Talk, Don't Worry No One's Kids Are Mentioned By Name, Falling In Love, Fucking, Goodbyes, Jealousy, Light Bondage, M/M, Men Crying, Music, Not Beta Read, Not My Fault, Open Marriage, Open Relationships, Past-Tense Russell Crowe/Paul Bettany, Phone Sex, Polyamory, Rimming, Sexual Fantasy, Sorry Not Sorry, Spanking, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2014-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-04 05:57:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/karelian/pseuds/karelian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hugh makes Russell scream. Russell makes Hugh understand why people do things that always seemed crazy to him before. Mostly Paul's glad he got away...mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man Is Yours

**Author's Note:**

> FICTION FICTION FICTION and also I made it all up, except the titles of the movies these men were in together, some tweets, and the times and places of film premieres. Since their spouses are also celebrities and since no marriages were harmed in the writing of this fic except the one that's already publicly coming apart, I used spouse names but left the kiddies out of it. For dementordelta, my personal Dark Lord of the Sith, invaluable first reader and collaborator on chapter six. The fourth chapter is for my number one commenter, who demanded it.

_Keep your head_ , Russell recites to himself like a mantra, _keep your head, keep your --_

But it does no good, not like this, not during an ambush like this. Not with Hugh balls-deep in Russell's ass and Hugh's hand jacking him off like he's watched Russell do it to himself, Hugh knows just what -- fuck --

 _Keep your head!_ Only Russell can't hear himself over his own grunts, and Hugh's wicked whispers, Jesus Christ. Russell knew this might be a mistake, the best kind of mistake but still a mistake.

He keeps swearing to himself that he's going to stop working himself up like this. He's getting old, he's almost fifty for fuck's sake. One day he's going to make a complete ass of himself, one day his dick won't cooperate, though fuck oh fuck this is not that day, his dick won't stop cooperating, Hugh knows just how to --

"You're going to come so hard for me, Rusty," Hugh promises, shifting the angle just a bit, so that Russell can only cry out in agreement.

He hadn't meant for it to go this far. Really he hadn't -- sex with Hugh, fine, of course he'd wanted that, but he hadn't dared imagine Hugh taking him like this. Everyone looks at Hugh, everyone flirts with Hugh, men and women, young and old, and because Hugh is possibly the most amazing man in the world, never temperamental, never rude, working twice as hard as anyone else with a smile on his face, Hugh manages to convince them all that he's flirting back. That he'd like to satisfy every one of them, the way he's doing to Russell right now --

 _Oh God oh God_ and even though Russell knew better than to believe the legend Hugh spins, completely content in the body that Hugh works so hard to sculpt, never so much as glancing at anyone besides the wife who's even older than Russell, he couldn't have expected this. To be honest, Russell hadn't been sure he had anything Hugh wanted. It isn't as if they haven't known each other for years, and they've flirted before, since Russell, too, can get away with flirting with everyone, usually because people are afraid of offending him, though Russell doesn't believe Hugh's afraid of anyone, not like this --

"Thought you'd like it a bit rough," growls Hugh in approval as Russell's teeth bite down, unplanned and unconscious, in the firm muscle covering Hugh's shoulder.

Jesus. _Keep your head!_ Even though Russell's seen bigger cocks, even taken bigger cocks, though not for years, he doesn't think anyone has ever felt so huge and hard inside him. It must be how hard Hugh is thrusting, _Almighty God_ usually people are careful with Russell, how they talk to him and how they flirt with him and how they fuck him. He never realized, before, until he offered, not really expecting --

 _Fuck!_ Of course Russell had known it wasn't just playing around, but he'd been sure Hugh didn't know. Even though Russell had felt compelled to confess to Dani, who'd told him to go fuck himself since she was no longer interested in his games and when was Russell going to grow up and see that they weren't games...

"You're thinking so loudly I can hear you," Hugh hisses in his ear, giving Russell's cock a particularly exquisite tug.

Holy fucking hell, Russell wants to explain that he is paying attention, in fact he hasn't been able to think of anything else for days-weeks-Christ-how-long-has-it-been, but he can't speak because Hugh's tongue is in his mouth. Who would have guessed that friendly, generous Jackman would be such a greedy bastard in bed, or, worse, that friendly, generous Jackman would take Russell apart this way. If Hugh has paid enough attention to figure out that it's exactly what Russell --

Goddamn it, it started the same way with Paul, who'd always been able to read Russell too. Since they started fucking, anyway, something Paul claimed had only happened because Russell was an intolerable tease, which Russell supposed was true or he wouldn't keep finding himself like this with his ass in the air getting filled so thoroughly. _Why are you calling, Russ?_ Paul had asked just that morning with a sardonic smile that Russell could hear across the miles between their mobiles, and Russell had started to explain, _no reason, just missing you_ , though he'd never been able to fool Paul, _I miss you, too, but there must be some reason you missed me tonight. Did one of my films turn up when you were flipping channels, or does the reason have a name?_

So Russell had explained about Hugh, helplessly, because he loved Paul and he never wanted to hurt Paul but Paul of all people knew that even when all parties involved agreed that it was fine, it wasn't cheating, free pass to fuck his brains out, the flame could burn so hot that it had to be put out before everyone got swept away in the fire. It wasn't a question of resentment from his wife but of not being able to live two lives at once, that's what Paul had said, it wasn't fair to his kids, maybe if he and Russell were older and their families were older or maybe if they lived in the same place or maybe if they were in different places in their own lives. What could Russell say but of course, he understood, and he did understand because it was burning away his own life at the edges, though he went home and cried and moped for weeks. Then he did the same thing all over again with Alan except it was perfect because Alan was completely straight, there was no chance of anything ever happening, Russell could dream all he wanted and flirt outrageously without any risk, even kiss Alan on stage without any...

"Rusty." The word, the low gravelly voice just beginning to sound out of control, jerks Russell back to this place where Hugh's prick is thrusting into places he's pretty sure no one else has ever reached and Hugh's hand is doing something to his foreskin no one else ever tried and Russell's about to scream and come and embarrass himself with Hugh playing him so expertly. No distraction could hold that off for long. "I'm _fucking_ you. I don't do this with just anyone," Hugh grates in his ear, biting down on the lobe for emphasis. "Pay attention."

And maybe Russell needs the risk as much as the sex, even more than the sex, because he's right here, staring into Hugh's eyes since Hugh won't let him look anywhere else, he could fall in love right here, with Hugh making him forget he's ever felt anything like this before. Maybe he never _has_ felt anything like this before, because Hugh is in a category all his own, Russell has had a bit of a crush for years but now Hugh is older and better looking and could probably snap Russell in half if he wanted to and he's not afraid to fuck Russell so hard that no one else ever again might be able to touch those places --

Too much, that's it, Russell hears himself making a sound he didn't know human throats could make, and his dick is spurting and spurting in Hugh's hand, and he's shouting things he doesn't want to hear because then he'll have to know he said them, afterward, though right now they're all true. Then Hugh's hips buck and stutter and thank god, thank god Russell isn't totally humiliated, though Hugh's more of a grunter than a screamer and if he's saying words Russell can't make them out over the roaring in his own head which goes on for a long time, longer than the pulses in his cock, longer than Hugh clenching and shoving his hips and licking the sweat off Russell's neck, which makes Russell cry out again.

"Oof." Hugh flops beside him with an ear to ear grin that Russell can feel low in his belly, uncoiling toward his cock, even though he just came. "That was even better than I imagined."

"Been imagining this for long?" Russell asks hoarsely, trying for nonchalance but sounding breathless and pleased and eager for promises. He's already so overheated that he can't imagine that Hugh can see him blushing, but Hugh knots and tosses the condom somewhere and turns, still grinning, to kiss his flushed cheek.

"Longer than you have, I bet." There's something reproachful in the voice, Russell wants to defend himself against it, but before he gets a chance, Hugh adds, "For years I promised myself I wouldn't try. Then this film came along and I knew I wouldn't be able to help it."

So it's the film. Russell knows that he should be relieved, not so disappointed that there's a sick feeling deep in his gut. He tells himself that's only from having the muscles crushed from the position he was in a few moments earlier. "Valjean's revenge," he says, surprised that he can keep his voice as steady as he does. There are some advantages to having been an actor for so long.

"Revenge?" The bed shakes with Hugh's laughter. "That's your word. Valjean doesn't believe in revenge." Hugh's eyes are on the ceiling, or on heaven, and his smile is angelic. "Javert's redemption," he adds dreamily. And before Russell can come up with a decent reply to that, Hugh has rolled over and is kissing him as thoroughly as he fucked him, tongue thrusting with careful intent every time Russell thinks he's going to stop, and Russell clutches Hugh's shoulders because there's nothing he can do but hold on so he doesn't drown in it.

Whatever Hugh says, this must be revenge for something. Why else would he be putting so much of himself into it, not letting Russell catch his breath, shifting his thigh against Russell so that Russell's hypersensitive, exhausted dick has no choice but to twitch for him? Russell moans helplessly, but it takes Hugh several seconds to relent and let him up for air.

"It isn't just the film, if that's what you're telling yourself right now to blow off what we just did." Hugh's smile is centimeters from Russell's mouth and his eyes are dark and merry. "But if you want to pretend we didn't just do it, I won't give you away."

Whatever else, whatever it may cost him, Russell wouldn't pretend it hadn't happened for anything he can think of, except possibly the chance to do it again. "If it isn't the film, then why today?" he asks, still sounding breathless and eager to his own ears. "What did I do today that told you it was the right day?"

Hugh shrugs. His entire body is humming with energy that Russell can feel in his own tired muscles. "You smiled at me," Hugh says nonchalantly.

"Don't I always?"

"Not like you want to eat me for dinner."

 _Christ almighty._ Russell doesn't even bother telling himself to keep his head, it's hopeless if Hugh is going to say things like that. His cock gives another feeble, helpless twitch. Hugh's, he can tell, is already much farther along the road to recovery. It figures that with a body like that, Hugh also has the stamina of a lion.

The feeble, helpless twitch has not escaped Hugh's attention. A slow smirk crosses Hugh's face and his leg insinuates itself between Russell's. "You like it when I say things like that?" Russell doesn't dare reply through the shudder of pleasure that rocks him as Hugh's thigh presses his depleted yet undeniably attentive dick. "You can, if you want. Eat me for dinner. I'll even wash first."

It can't only be instinct telling Hugh just how to move his thigh against Russell, it must have been a person, and Russell doesn't know whether to be grateful or crazed with jealousy, he never wants to share this with anyone else, not even in past tense, he'd lock Hugh up somewhere if he didn't know full well that Hugh wouldn't have any problem breaking out of anything Russell used to keep him. "I may do that," he croaks, his voice is ruined, there will be no rehearsals or sing-alongs tonight, he may as well wreck his tonsils the best possible way, seeing how much of Hugh he can swallow. Holy fuck, he's getting hard again. "No washing necessary."

"With the lights on. I want to see you with your mouth around my cock."

The world explodes behind Russell's eyes. He's pretty sure that if Hugh hadn't just fucked him into the mattress, he'd be coming all over himself and Hugh's thigh. "Fuck!" he gasps, clutching at Hugh's shoulders. He supposes he's earned the growl and nip at his earlobe that follows. "You're in the wrong side of this business. You should be making porn."

"You could make it with me." Hugh's head lifts, and how does he manage to look dreamy and sinful at the same time? "We could do a series. The one where I tie you to the bed and ride your cock and don't let you come for hours. The one where I have you on all fours and make you watch your face in the mirror while I fuck you." Strangled sounds force their way out of Russell's throat. "The one where I put a leash on you and walk you on your hands and knees in the grass, and you pant and suck me off and come humping my leg -- if you're good I'll let you piss on a tree --"

It's like Hugh has seen pages of Russell's mental spank book that Russell didn't even remember were there, and as mortifying as it is to have someone else looking at them, it's also the most exciting thing that's ever happened to him. "Please," he hears himself saying, no, begging, and feels Hugh's breath heating his ear:

"Please shut up? Or please do it? I don't hear you saying no, enough of this."

"I'll never get enough of this." _Holy Mary Mother of God_ , he did not mean to say that aloud, but there's no point in pretending he doesn't mean every word. "I want all of it. Jesus. Do you know what you're doing to our lives?"

"Tell me," Hugh instructs him, lifting his head. For a split second Russell watches the confidence disappear, replaced by -- what is that? Fear? Bravado?

Then the confidence is back, but all at once Russell can see that it's a front, and Hugh isn't particularly better at coping, just better at, well, keeping his head. "Suppose I don't let you go," he begins.

There it is again, definitely fear and something like longing. "If you can stop me," Hugh interrupts, voice cracking just a bit.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't want this. As much as I do." Apparently they're both to be reduced to half-sentences now. "Which could get very...messy."

Hugh's eyes, already deep brown, much darker than Russell's, turn nearly black as his eyelids narrow. "I want messy," he growls, though isn't a performance now but an admission. "I need -- this."

And somehow Russell must have known, because none of it would have flayed him open like this if he hadn't guessed that this was underneath. "You have me," he says, to see what effect it will have on Hugh, and it must have the right one because again Russell is being kissed so thoroughly he can't think anymore, let alone speak.

He's a bit sore, how could he not be after being fucked the way Hugh pounded him into the mattress, yet for a minute he thinks Hugh is going to do it again, push back into him without any further preparation or even _oh fuck_ a condom, Christ maybe he's going to need a safeword next time, that's never happened before, but even now Hugh knows there are some limits because he shifts downward, "You can eat me later," muffled because he's licking Russell's sweaty, sticky belly before he's licking the head of Russell's cock. And then lower, pushing Russell's thighs apart, raising one leg over his shoulder to --

Oh Jesus he's not. Not after fucking Russell like that, it probably isn't even safe, well, Russell knows that it is safe but they haven't had that talk in so many words and _fuck oh fuck oh holy hell mother of Christ don't stop_ and Hugh is chuckling, making Russell vibrate inside and out as he moves his tongue, there aren't words for this, Russell is mewling helplessly, his wife won't do this and no one else ever would have without a wash and there aren't enough profanities for how good this is, "I love you," is what he's crying out, "Love you, love you," and Hugh chuckles again.

"I bet you say that to everyone who sticks his tongue in your ass."

"There's no one oh Christ Hugh, no one, God, can't you feel what you do, you have to stop if you wanted just sex I can't do just sex with you, stop don't stop oh fuck please!"

A finger replaces the tongue as Hugh shifts, kissing back up Russell's cock after one long swipe over his balls. "I don't do just sex." Russell can hear the grin he knows he's going to see when he looks down, though Hugh also looks greedy and hungry, mouth poised over Russell's cock as if he's a cock-sucking vampire about to feed. "You are never going to forget this, and if you try to walk away, it'll haunt you, I swear I'll haunt you, Rusty..."

Then Hugh swallows him to the hilt and Russell is back to babbling, "Never walk away, never forget this, oh please never stop!"

He glances down, sees Hugh with his knees drawn up under himself to hold his weight while he uses one hand on Russell, the other on himself. Hugh touching himself is better than any porn Russell has ever seen. It's not Hugh's body, that's almost intimidating in its perfection, it's Hugh's focus, his ability to stroke himself in one rhythm while he's fingering Russell in another and sliding his mouth up and down on Russell in yet another, like he's playing several musical instruments at once. No wonder Russell enjoys singing with him...

 _Holy fucking hell_ Hugh is doing something with his finger that makes Russell cry out, there will be no singing tonight. "Please," he gasps. "Give me yours, want to suck that beautiful cock of yours." He feels Hugh chuckle around him then shift around without moving either his mouth or his finger, straddling Russell, pressing back toward his face. Hugh smells a bit like latex and a bit like Russell but that cock is too perfect to resist, pointing down at him from thick dark hair the same color as Hugh's beard when he has one. Hugh fucks Russell's mouth as he sucks him, it's like Hugh is doing fucking push-ups over him, muscles rippling in his thighs and belly, Russell reaches up to squeeze Hugh's ass and feel the muscles working there. Hugh should be carved in marble, no, Hugh's mouth is so much hotter than marble and knows how to roll a foreskin up and down...

"Use your hands and tell me what you're thinking," Hugh orders. No one talks to Russell like this in or out of bed. He wonders what it would be like to take orders like that all day, _wash my back, Rusty, get me dressed, Rusty, make me a protein shake, Rusty_. He has to pull his mouth off Hugh's beautiful cock to groan.

"Thinking I might retire to become your personal trainer," he pants as Hugh sucks him because he doesn't quite dare say _your personal slave_. "One hundred push-ups like this with your cock in my mouth, one hundred sit-ups with your cock in my ass..."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Hugh says distinctly around a mouthful of Russell's cock, tongue moving all around the head as he speaks. The finger in Russell's ass does something that's so good it makes Russell's ass spasm. "Keep talking."

"One hundred crunches with my tongue in you, one hundred pull-ups lowering yourself onto my cock and pulling yourself off it, one hundred curls that take the same amount of time it takes me to swallow your cock and let it slide out..."

"You're hired," Hugh gasps and comes all over Russell's face and chest, grunting like he's being turned inside out. His fingers slide out of Russell's ass, which is just as well because the ache is on the verge of changing from hurts so good to real pain, stuttering on Russell's cock. Russell's about to tell him to stop, he can't do it again so soon and Hugh might as well know right off exactly what he isn't getting here, but then Hugh's mouth is back before he's even caught his breath and maybe it's not that Hugh has so much experience but more that Hugh really loves sucking Russell's cock, Russell can't remember when or if anyone ever held on to him so possessively or kept at it with such determination or tried so many different ways of stroking kissing blowing scraping swallowing around him all while making noises like this is ambrosia, this is forbidden fruit, this is heaven.

It is heaven, and Russell ends up shooting his load while calling out all the things he couldn't stop himself from saying earlier, except this time he's also swearing that he means them. He thinks Hugh probably believes him because when he winds up blubbering, which must be from all the screaming and his ass being so tender, Hugh curls up with him and pets his hair and says, "It's all right, Rusty, it's all good, I love you too."

It's the first time in Russell doesn't know how many years that he falls asleep after sex without having to have a cigarette.


	2. Let Me Take Care Of Him

"What are you working on?"

Hugh approaches carefully, though he doesn't let that show in his walk. Russell has been known to bite the heads off of even his friends if they rub him the wrong way at the wrong moment, like a dog that's not quite tame. But Russell also lets the alpha dog make demands, and he's made it clear that he likes Hugh as the alpha. In every sense. Not even just in bed.

Russell's head snaps up defensively, but he smiles when his eyes meet Hugh's. "I was working on a song."

"Can I see?" The way Russell pulls his iPad toward his chest -- is he blushing? -- makes Hugh grin. "What's it about?"

"You, I think. I wrote it a long time ago, even recorded it with the Grunts, but I didn't really know what it needed till now."

 _Shit._ Hugh doesn't let his smile waver. Russell will say anything in bed, declare his love, swear that this is forever, but Hugh knows he's not the first person Russell has said these things to so he tries not to think about them too much. But once in a while, Russell comes out with something like this, and it's like something wild running through Hugh's life, beautiful and irresistible though much too dangerous.

"Can I hear it?" asks Hugh, shrugging a bit, so it's clear that this is a request and not a game.

"It isn't really working yet." But Russell reaches for his guitar, tunes it for a moment, glances at Hugh as if he needs to be certain that Hugh isn't laughing at him, and starts to play. "I'm the unhappiest soul in the whole Milky Way / I'll twinkle when you look at me and I'll burn the night till day..."

Hugh feels his breath catch. Russell is strumming some of the music from _Les Mis_ , Javert's obsessive song about Valjean and the stars, mixing it in with Russell's own song. It has sad lyrics about losing a soul mate. If this were anybody else, Hugh would think he was being teased, but Russell has never been anything but earnest about what they do together so Hugh doesn't think he would mock it.

One of the strings on the guitar keeps making an odd sound. At first Russell only makes a face, but he stops halfway through the song, sighing. "I'll fix that."

"Let me." Hugh scoots behind, putting his arms over Russell's. The guitar isn't what he wants to strum. His thumb slides over a nipple, turning the peg to tighten the string, and his mouth brushes across Russell's ear. This is what Hugh does when Russell says something that scares him -- he fucks him -- so later what he'll remember are all the things Russell shouted while Hugh was making him come. Much safer that way.

"Do you like it?" Russell's head turns so that their lips are practically touching. Hugh's fingers slide over Russell's chest. There's too much shirt between them -- Hugh needs skin -- he tugs at the fabric until he can get his hands beneath it, resting his fingers on Russell's diaphragm. Now he can feel Russell inhaling. He leans in to capture Russell's breath in his mouth and Russell smiles. "I won't be able to sing like this. I'll lose the key."

"Fuck the key." Hugh couldn't sing now either, his voice has gone hoarse. He can tell from the way Russell glances down at his mouth that Russell appreciates it. His cock never fails to perk up when Russell looks at him like that, so he presses it against Russell's ass as best he can with both of them wearing jeans.

"Is the key what you want to fuck?"

 _Christ_ , Hugh loves it when Russell growls like that, and Russell knows it. One day Russell's going to demand something in that voice and find out just how little Hugh can resist. Not yet, though; Hugh can't afford to let Russell see that yet. "Just keep singing," he orders.

"That magic kiss, so rare when you find it," sings Russell. His chest moves against the pressure of Hugh's hand and his breath is warm against Hugh's face. He isn't strumming the guitar, so Hugh pulls it away, setting it on the floor and pushing it as far away as he can with his foot. "You find it in the last place you could ever unbind it..."

"You never will unbind it, Rusty," Hugh tells him and captures Russell's mouth before Russell can protest. "You're mine," he says into the kiss. It may not be true, but he loves to say it and Russell loves to hear it, which makes it fair enough.

There's still too much material between himself and Russell, so Hugh starts pulling at the shirt again, breaking the kiss just long enough to get it over Russell's head. Russell's arms get twisted in the fabric, and it's perfect, it's as if Hugh planned it that way. He'd much rather play Russell than a guitar, and with Russell's hands tied up, Hugh can squeeze and rub a nipple with one hand while with the other he can stroke Russell's obviously very eager cock through his jeans.

"Bet I could make you come in your pants," he gloats into Russell's ear before taking the earlobe in his teeth, twisting it just a bit.

"Please." Russell hisses as Hugh's teeth scrape his neck. Hugh always wants to leave a mark, he'd leave a fucking tattoo if there was a way to do that with just his mouth. He sucks on the reddened skin before replying.

"Please what?"

"Unzip me. Take me out." Russell always starts out pushy even when he's begging. Hugh takes his time obeying, toying with the button the way he's toying with Russell's nipple, which stiffens like his cock. He nibbles his way across the back of Russell's neck. "Oh god, fuck, Hugh!"

"Mmmmmno, fuck you." Hugh grins against Russell's skin, tasting his hair, there's no part of Russell he doesn't want to put in his mouth. "That's just what I'm going to do, when I'm finished doing this." He goes back to licking and biting his way across Russell's upper back.

Writhing, Russell mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _Huge Jackass_ , which is Annie's name for Hugh ever since she sang that song at the Oscars. Russell steals everyone else's nicknames like he believes he can make Hugh his if he makes all the names his, as if Russell needs the names to do that.

"Huge might be a bit of an overstatement." Hugh laughs, fingers finding their way inside Russell's jeans, squeezing the shape of Russell's thick hard cock through his underwear. It always makes his mouth water to touch it, he loves sucking it, he loves how shameless Russell is about fucking his mouth when Hugh tells him to do so -- he used to ask instead of tell, but Russell's more polite when asked, Russell needs to be ordered to give it to Hugh as hard as he wants it. "This is pretty big, Russell."

"I wonder who got it that way?" Arching, Russell pushes himself against Hugh's hand. There's already a wet spot on the underwear. Russell keeps trying to warn Hugh that his cock isn't as young as it once was and needs longer to recover than Hugh's does, but Hugh has seen no evidence of this. Sometimes it takes Russell longer to come than it takes Hugh, but that just means Hugh gets to spend as long as he likes stroking Russell's cock or sucking it or doing whatever wicked thing strikes his fancy, making Russell jack off in his hair or between his feet. Right now he'd like to watch Russell tug on his own cock until he comes all over his jeans...

 _Fuck_ except Hugh's too hard not to want to touch him, he'd never be able to keep his hands off him, his own cock is throbbing in his jeans. "Feel what you do to mine?" he asks, rocking his hips and moving his fingers, pushing them through the leg hole of Russell's shorts so he can touch the hot damp skin of Russell's cock. "I need you on all fours, I need to put it in you and feel you pushing back on it..."

Already Russell's diving forward, catching his weight on an elbow while his still-trapped-together hands start shoving down his jeans and underwear. Hugh stretches out his leg so he can work a hand into his own pocket -- he never goes anywhere without a condom these days, not since the second day of rehearsals when he walked into the men's while Russell was leaning over at the sink and their eyes met in the mirror and it was as if they agreed on something right at that moment, without a single word. That week Hugh had shown up at Russell's hotel room and the door had barely closed before they were kissing. Hugh had been ready to explain that Valjean had made him do it, if necessary, but Russell had never asked for any excuse.

Russell's already mostly naked, kicking his clothes in the general direction of the guitar while he waits on elbows and knees for Hugh. The lube's in the other room, but Russell's probably got enough left in him from earlier -- Russell's not big on slow preparation, he doesn't care if hurts a bit, in fact he seems to like it. Ironically, Russell seems to believe that this is more than sex only while they're having sex, or about to have sex, or clinging to each other in the aftermath of sex, or sore from having so much sex, so Hugh tries to leave as many reminders of the sex as he can, bite marks and rug burns, fingerprints where he can get away with them.

It isn't that he wants to hurt Russell. It's that Russell loves being marked and Hugh loves doing it. He leans forward and bites Russell's ass, not hard, just enough to leave an impression of teeth in the skin. "Fuck!" shouts Russell as Hugh kisses the spot, licks it apologetically, then sucks on it hard enough to bring all the blood to the surface. "You know I'll come before you get inside if you do things like that," Russell gasps, even though that's never happened either, Russell likes to warn him -- Hugh wonders whether it was an issue for Russell in the past, he has no trouble believing that Russell doesn't waste energy on control.

"Have to make sure you're ready for me," Hugh reminds him, then spreads Russell's cheeks with both hands and waits to hear Russell's moan of anticipation before he licks. He never imagined he could love doing this the way he loves doing it to Russell, who practically sobs his gratitude, for whom it is less a dirty hot sex act and more an act of devotion. Russell says _I love you_ a lot when Hugh's tongue is in his ass, which as far as Hugh is concerned would be a good enough reason to put it there even if it didn't also make Russell say _please_ and _fuck me_ and _oh god Hugh now_. Hugh can tell with his fingers that Russell's still pretty slick inside and Russell's not wincing when he's stretched.

Someday he wants to be inside Russell without a condom, except that means imagining a someday that can't ever happen, because it would have to be just the two of them for it to happen and Hugh doesn't dare let his thoughts go there. He doesn't think Russell does either, though for opposite reasons. Hugh's not a nomad like Russell, who'd like to bring his entire clan with him everywhere he goes -- Danielle and the kids, Russell's brother and his family, all the guys from the Grunts and their families, Sting and Trudi, Alan and Joanne, Tommy, Sammy, Jon, Nic, now Hugh and Deb and the kids, probably even Paul and Jennifer and their kids because Russell is precisely that greedy. He wants everyone he has ever loved within arm's reach and his parents back in Australia minding the farm because it's just as important to Russell to keep moving as it is to reach out and grab everyone who matters to him.

Whereas Hugh has to return home like a fixed point, he has to have quiet, just Deb and a couple of people who know him very, very well. He can't live surrounded by a traveling circus. He has to have a place in New York because Australia's too far away from his American career and London and the rest of the world, and he needs to live there, with his family, because he is never ever going to do to his kids what his mother did to him. Not even if this thing with Russell leaves him shaking from dreaming the impossible dream -- if Russell can want a gypsy caravan, then why can't Hugh want Russell to pop in like a genie whenever he rubs and wishes for it, and give him this --

"Fuck me," Russell begs again, and Hugh finishes fumbling with the condom, trying to clear his head because the moment he thrusts inside Russell is not the moment to blurt out that when he says forever he means forever. If he does, Russell will paradoxically take it to mean its opposite, that it only means sex.

Hugh always tries to take it nice and slow, but he always fails because Russell pushes back on him like a bomb might go off and interrupt them. "Slow down," Hugh tries to drawl, though he's too breathless to do it properly, he's better at the horse stunts than at talking like a cowboy. "Let me get it in without bruising anything." He's not as thick around as Russell but no one's ever complained that it was too small, and he's never been insecure in that department before but Russell makes Hugh worry about all kinds of things he can usually wave off with a grin.

"Give me that big cock," groans Russell like they're making a porno. They fit perfectly together, Russell feels gloriously tight and hot around him. Hugh thrusts in more and more and Russell takes it, moaning every curse word Hugh knows plus some that Hugh thinks must be Spanish or Italian though knowing Russell they're probably Romanian or some obscure dialect Russell learned once for a movie and never forgot. It makes Hugh crazy when Russell talks like that and Russell knows it, the broken oaths and dirty words come out in a steady stream.

"The mouth on you," he mutters, giving Russell's bum a squeeze. "Language."

"It's too fucking good, Christ, I can't help it, just fuck my ass!"

"Keep that up and you'll get a spanking." Hugh thinks he's threatened that before, but maybe not, maybe he only said someone should wash Russell's mouth out with soap, because the effect on Russell is incredible -- Russell is crying out and clenching around Hugh like he might come right away just from hearing it. This is without Hugh even touching Russell, whose hands are still knotted together in his shirt. "You like that idea?" He gives Russell one smack on one side of his ass, not a very good one because he's at an awkward angle with his cock buried inside Russell, and Russell makes that desperate noise again, so Hugh tries it again.

"Oh fuck, please, more!" _Jesus._ It's hard to thrust and spank at the same time, less because it's uncoordinated than because it's so hot having Russell beg for it, all Hugh wants to do is grab Russell's hips hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingers and fuck Russell like his sole purpose in life is to fill up his ass. Hugh smacks with one hand, then the other, his hips pumping the whole time, until Russell's entire backside is red and Hugh doesn't trust himself not to hurt him if he keeps it up even though Russell has not uttered one grunt that sounds like real pain. "Don't stop!"

"Have to," Hugh pants in his ear, finally gripping Russell's hip in one hand, finally wrapping the fingers of his other hand around Russell's cock. "You can only tease a man for so long before he. needs. to. do. this." His hips snap hard with each syllable, thrusting in deep, feeling Russell squeezing around the whole length of his cock. Russell makes Hugh understand why people do things that always seemed crazy to him before -- tattooing their lovers' names on their cocks, drinking their lovers' blood. It isn't that he wants to do those things, it's just that he wants to tell Russell that he gets it, now, needing to own someone like that.

"You're -- fuck! -- you're quiet today," Russell grunts as Hugh tugs on his prick.

"Can't hear myself think over you yelling 'fuck' all the time." To prove his point, Hugh twists his fingers the way he knows Russell likes it, and Russell lets out a satisfyingly profane yowl. "See?"

"Don't think. Just talk," Russell grunts, and though it sounds like a request, Hugh knows it's a demand. Russell knows all about the difference.

So Hugh says, "I'm thinking about all the things you make me want to do that I never wanted before. I know why I'd want to make someone wear a butt plug all day long, so he couldn't forget for a single second who put it there." He twists his hand as he says it, shoving himself in hard, and Russell makes one of those noises Hugh never knew before a human throat could make. "I know why to use a collar, I know why fisting got invented..."

Russell screams -- really screams -- as his ass convulses around Hugh and he comes, spattering Hugh's arm and the plush carpet where it's probably going to leave a stain. Just as well, that means Hugh will be able to rub his face over the spot later, like a dog missing its master, and it's that thought that sends him over the edge, not having Russell on his leash but discovering himself on Russell's. For a few seconds Hugh can't think at all, then he remembers all the things he said and collapses on Russell's back, shaking.

"Hugh," Russell says after a couple of minutes. Hugh still doesn't trust his voice. "Hey. Jacko." Fuck, Russell's probably sore as hell but Hugh can't move, he thinks he'll shatter if he lets go of Russell. Abruptly Russell's head turns, knocking Hugh halfway off his back. Hugh slides to the rug and Russell twists around, looking worried.

"I didn't mean," Hugh says, but he's still shaking, his voice is shaking, the fact that Russell is reaching for him doesn't help, not even when Russell puts his still-trapped arms over Hugh's head and wraps him in a bear hug. It's like the first time they did it, when Russell was the one so raw and overstimulated afterward that there were actual tears running down his...

"Old James Roger," Russell says with laughter in his voice, kissing Hugh's forehead, and Hugh has to laugh helplessly because how did Russell hear about that anyway, did he watch Hugh's old Leno episodes? "I try to sing you a love song, and this is what I get?" Hugh keeps laughing with him, sniffling because his nose is running, he grabs his jeans to wipe it and only makes Russell giggle more. "You're a mess, mate." Russell kisses beneath each of Hugh's eyes. His face turns apologetic. "About fisting. I don't think I can..."

Hugh shakes his head quickly. "I don't want that. I don't know why I said that. It was one of those..."

Russell smiles, not fooled. "We both know why you said it. The same reason you make me want to sing to you." He winks at Hugh. "One of us just happens to be romantic."

"I'm plenty romantic," Hugh objects, blushing. He is, after all, the one who's acting like a lovesick schoolgirl this time. He hopes he didn't say the thing about rubbing his face in Russell's come out loud.

Russell is still grinning as he leans in to kiss Hugh's mouth. "I meant you," he agrees. "I want to hear some more about what you think about doing to me." His nose pushes Hugh's hair back. "You could tie me to the bed and tell me all your fantasies." Hugh moans, fumbling around to try to free Russell from the shirt, but Russell shifts his hands away. "You could keep me there all day, you could feed me and read me dirty stories, hold my cock while I piss..."

"Jesus Christ!"

"Or you could keep me too hard to piss and ride my cock. You're such a tease sometimes, I bet you spend all afternoon getting yourself ready just to see how much I'll beg. When you have me pinned to the bed, you know there's not a damn thing I can do about it." Hugh groans helplessly, clutching at Russell -- is this what Russell feels like when Hugh says this kind of thing to him? "I know you're romantic enough to kiss my wrists all over when you untie me, probably even give me a massage." Hugh manages to growl, yanking the shirt off Russell's wrists, and Russell grins, reaching for the guitar. "Feeling better? I'll finish my song."

It is just as bad, in fact it is worse than Hugh feared. And the worst part of all is that he wouldn't trade it for anything. He lies on the floor, cheek against Russell's thigh, nose close enough to the wet spot on the floor for the smell of Russell's come to fill his nostrils. On Russell's leash, even if Russell's a wild dog himself and it might not be safe even to wish for things. Hugh has this now, so he shuts his eyes, letting Russell's music fill him up and take him over.


	3. My Thoughts Fly Apart

He should have ended it already, Russell knows. Not ended it, but let it end, the way things are supposed to end -- slowing, calming -- until one day you know it's over but there are no hard feelings, you can still be friends, you'll always be in one another's lives. He should have let it slip away until one day even if he'd wanted to it would be too late for him to get back, the way he's let so many other things in his life slip away, even Dani.

He should have started letting it end the first time he saw Deb gazing at him with that coolness in her eyes, which told him that she might not be able to get rid of him yet, but she didn't have to like it.

It's just that there's so much _want_ when Hugh looks at him, and Russell doesn't think he's flattering himself to believe that look is for him and him alone. He sees Hugh grinning and winking and beaming at so many other people, that's Hugh all over, giving little bits of himself away so that everyone Hugh meets thinks they've made a wonderful impression, so good at it that no one can tell when it's artifice. Which it usually isn't, because Hugh is the biggest extrovert Russell knows, he really loves meeting people, he never gets tired of it, he never stops smiling.

He isn't smiling at Russell. He's -- Christ, Russell's knees wobble when Hugh looks at him like that. There's no way Russell deserves it, he's not as good looking as Hugh and not remotely in the same shape, he's showing his age, even if Hugh doesn't care how he dresses or when he last got a haircut. It must be precisely that Hugh knows how Russell's knees wobble, how much he needs this, how far he'd go to --

_Fuck._

He knows how much it will hurt when it all goes to hell, and it will go to hell if he can't find some way to ease back on it so that Deb _and then Hugh_ doesn't see it as a problem. He's already had a glimpse of the future. Deb's chilliness, carefully hidden under the effervescence that Hugh depends upon, is nothing compared to the block of ice that was Paul the last time Russell had seen him. Things had been all right with Jen, they'd been working, she'd been friendly if not warm exactly, he'd known things would never be the way they were back when they'd all worked together and Russell had been at the center of it all, of Paul and Jen both. But when he'd seen Paul...

True, Russell had snatched _Les Mis_ away from him. Russell might have been Hooper's choice, and Mackintosh's idea, but if Russell had said no, the part would have been Paul's, and it would have been Hugh and Paul's movie instead of Hugh and Russell's...

Everything about that thought is intolerable to Russell, even more now than when he'd first had it. And maybe he really is the selfish son of a bitch that Paul and Dani both claim, though they'd both said it to him with affection before the affection leached out. Like it's doing with Deb. If that happens, there's no doubt it will happen next with Hugh, because Deb gives Hugh things he needs that Russell's incapable of giving him. Hugh's family is what's permanent. If Russell in any way becomes a threat to that, it won't just be the sex that's over, it'll be decades of friendship with someone Russell might love even more than he loved Paul.

He's guessing Paul knows that, and that, more than ambition, is why Paul scarcely speaks to him now.

Hugh is speaking to him. When Russell's face is between Hugh's thighs like this, Hugh will say anything, even things Russell's sure he doesn't mean -- fine, Hugh probably does love him too, but not the way Russell means it, not _I'd let it all go to hell for you, I'd tell you forever and mean it_. Hugh mutters about gags and clamps and knots and plugs, things Russell suspects Hugh has maybe tried a few times but they're not really what does it for him, it's threatening Russell with them that does it for him, and it's having Hugh make such promises that does it for Russell.

"...blindfold you and shave you," Hugh is saying now. "Write my name across your belly so you know you're mine." Russell's sure he must have misheard it because Hugh's legs are muffling the sound, or imagined it because Hugh's cock makes Russell wish for so very many things, _no fucking way he said that --_

"Say it again," Russell implores. He doesn't mean for it to come out as begging but of course it does.

"You heard me." There's laughter and something else in Hugh's voice. He tries to tilt Russell's chin up, but Russell buries his face against the dark rough denim of Hugh's jeans. It isn't just because he's blushing. He's fucking shaking. Even his hands are shaking. Christ, did he talk in his sleep? How does Hugh know, nobody ever found out, not even Dani, nobody knew but --

"Hey, Russ." Hugh's tone changes abruptly. "You can tell me if I go too far." Russell swallows, his mouth too dry to speak. He can feel Hugh trying to look at him, and, worse, can feel the apology Hugh's entire body has become. "I don't want it if you don't." Any second now Hugh is going to take Russell's silence to mean no. And Hugh will never bring it up again. And Russell will be too mortified...

He forces himself to look up, though he's almost too mortified now, with his face red and his lips quivering. "I do," he says, voice cracking. "I want everything with you so much I -- Christ."

Hugh smiles, though he also looks wary, like he's not sure how badly he freaked Russell out. Or, rather, he knows how badly he freaked Russell out but can't figure out why. "You ever done it before?" he inquires, and Russell has to close his eyes again _don't go back there don't think about it_ but he can't lie to Hugh so he has to nod. "That bad, or that good?"

That good, but it's over, and Paul had said all the same things that Hugh says to him now, _no don't go back there this is not the same this is Hugh_ , no this has got to be different because everything is different with Hugh. "Have you?" Russell croaks, trying to swallow. "Ever done it. As a kink, I mean, not because you had to." He wants to wet his lips, but Hugh will think he's teasing him and he's not, this time.

Hugh blushes a bit. "Only with --" Pausing, pressing his lips together. Of course Hugh knows that Russell is the jealous type, Russell could have his picture in the dictionary as the definition of the jealous type, but Russell also hates hates hates not knowing and Hugh knows that too. Hugh's eyes disengage, looking at some interesting point above Russell's head. "-- Deb," Hugh finishes, and Russell manages a bit of a smile _thank Christ and all the saints_ not only because fighting against Deb is an already-lost battle but because it doesn't even count. If what Hugh wanted most in the world was his wife, he would not be here right now. It's not like when Russell was _oh shut up shut up_

Hugh's eyebrow lifts and Russell thinks maybe he said the last part aloud.

"It was him, right?" Hugh asks. Fuck, when did Hugh figure there was only one "him" who didn't need to be named? There have been other men, plenty of other men, with some of whom Russell did things that he's never done with anyone else since, usually because he didn't much like it. He's never had anyone for as long as Hugh's kept most of his lovers, at least from what Russell has heard, because Russell has never had the nerve or maybe the stomach to ask directly. Hugh isn't really the jealous type, but for a moment he looks sad, like he thinks he's second best to someone, and Russell hates hates hates himself for that because it isn't true.

"I love you," he says urgently.

"I know you do, Rusty." Hugh bites his own lip, off center, trying to decide how much to let blurt out of his mouth. "I'm not him, all right?" He takes a breath and looks off in the distance again. "Not going anywhere."

"Not letting you." The words are out before Russell can stop them. "I'm not either. Never going anywhere." God, it's too much, he's going to scare Hugh off if he keeps this up. He covers his face with both hands. It was supposed to be fun, it was supposed to be safe for Christ's sake since they were friends and understood that there were limits.

Hugh's fingers are in his hair, petting him, calming him like Hugh thinks he's a fucking wild animal who needs taming. "I love you, too," Hugh murmurs. He always says those words like he thinks they might mean something different when he says them than when Russell says them, though it's slippery and elusive. Then, before Russell can really think, Hugh's voice goes back to the tone that makes Russell crazy. "That's why I want to do it. I can't tattoo my name on your ass --"

"You could if you wanted to," Russell interrupts. He doesn't even know where this is coming from. He hates tattoos, he's even tweeted about how much he hates tattoos and been blasted by the village for it.

For some reason this makes Hugh blush. Maybe Hugh knows what Russell has said about tattoos in the past. about the tweets. "I can't tattoo my name on your ass and I can't scar you with my teeth or anything crazy," he continues. Though he could, Russell, would let him, Russell would let Hugh try pretty much anything, even things he's said no to before like fisting when he thought Hugh was just saying extreme stuff to get him off. "But you wouldn't dare think of anyone else while I had a razor against your chest, would you?"

Holy fucking hell, as if he could think of anyone else with nothing but Hugh's smile against his chest. Russell looks up at Hugh and trembles again but it's different now, it's not about the past. "Is that the only reason, because I never think of anyone else, it's like I've been waiting all my life for this and we had to wait for just the right moment, but now that we have, there'll never be anyone else. Not until you want to stop."

Again Hugh looks embarrassed, Hugh who can push Russell to his knees and order him to put his pretty mouth on Hugh's cock without any trace of shyness. "I can't stop," he says. "I've thought, maybe we should, because it's obviously been the last straw for your marriage and I'm not sure what it's doing to mine." Russell starts to protest that he never, ever wants to hurt Hugh, especially not his marriage, but Hugh holds up a hand. "Things change anyway -- life, and all the work, and kids. It gets harder to tell half-truths with kids. All I know is that I don't know how to live without this anymore, and that scares me, because we spend half our time on different sides of the world and I don't always know if I can have you when we don't."

"Please," Russell manages to get out in between groaning and clutching at Hugh's thighs. No one else has ever talked to him like this and he doesn't think he can breathe if Hugh stops. Hugh reaches down a hand to him and he takes it, clutching at Hugh's fingers as Hugh drags him to his feet. "This -- what it is -- I don't have to be in the same place as you to feel it. It's always there. But when I am in the same place as you, you know what happens, I'll do anything to be with you. I'll do anything you want. Because I'm yours."

"When you say things like that..." Hugh's expression turns calculating, and Russell makes a noise, a helpless little whine of arousal. Hugh always looks so pleased when he's plotting. "Then I want to fuck your mouth until I'm about to come, and pull my cock out and do it over you. Mark you."

It's a good thing Hugh's as strong as he is because Russell's knees are nearly buckling. "Jesus Christ, I'll come in my jeans," he gets out.

"And rub it into your hair, your come and mine, and then shave all that hair off you until you're as smooth as a baby, and drip cold water on your skin and watch you get goosebumps, and touch you everywhere while you're so sensitive and feel every bit of you respond..."

When Hugh talks like this, Russell thinks he could ride his cock for hours, no matter how sore he got he'd keep going for as long as Hugh kept talking, even if Hugh told him not to touch himself without permission, even if Hugh made him hang onto the bedframe. Though sometimes Russell says "make me" and misbehaves just to see whether Hugh will give him a good hard spanking if Russell does not listen. And puts his ass in the air even as he's misbehaving in case Hugh misses the point.

Like that one time Hugh told him he'd only put his tongue in Russell's ass if Russell promised not to scream the F word but Russell couldn't help himself, he screamed and begged Hugh to fuck him until Hugh claimed to have no fucking choice. Just like Hugh had claimed to have no fucking choice, that one night over the phone from Toronto when Russell had been flirting with Alan or Stuart or someone he'd known for years, so naturally that he hadn't thought of it as flirting until Hugh had gone possessive on his ass, and Russell had loved it, all the ways Hugh promised to punish him when he saw him again, all the claims he made on Russell.

He'd even tried to get Russell to turn on the webcam and perform for him, and Russell nearly did it until they both realized how utterly fucking insane that would be, signals could be captured, phones could be stolen. They never called each other anything but Jacko and Rusty over the phone, no one could prove anything from that, and they sent text messages at all hours, sometimes using Twitter which had almost caused big problems when Russell forgot the direct message code to keep things private but at least it was only a funny photo...

Hugh's fingers snap in his face. "Where do you go when you disappear right in the middle like that?" he asks, sounding more curious than annoyed, though Russell supposes that this is as annoyed as Hugh ever lets himself sound, except when he's really angry and completely fucking terrifying.

"Remembering. Memorizing really. That time I was in Madrid when you said if you were there you'd be fucking me hanging out that window where I took a picture, and I made myself come listening to you. It's not enough when we're pretending, then when I'm with you it's almost too much."

There's too much air between them, Hugh leans back, looking at him, and Russell feels that spike of terror in his belly that stabs him every time he thinks about anything getting between him and Hugh, whether it's another person or just distance or his own stupid mouth saying too much, not saying enough, saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. "You know what we haven't done enough?" Hugh asks him with a funny twist to his mouth. "Plain old vanilla sex. The kind you could get anywhere." Russell blinks at him, and Hugh lets go, takes a couple of steps away, starts stripping off his jeans. "I want to make love...I want you to make love to me. Like we're a boring old married couple and we can do this any time we want."

Russell feels his breath catch. His chest compresses every time Hugh says _love_ to him or about him, and _married_ , even in the context of _boring_ and _old_...he scrambles to tug off what's left of his clothing, leaving it in a pile on the floor.

He usually prefers the bottom, even the times his cock has been inside Hugh it was usually because Hugh pinned him down and impaled himself, riding Russell, setting the tempo and the tone. It isn't that Hugh likes control so much that Hugh likes how Russell always gives it to him. Though there had been that one time when they'd both been too tired for any games, when Hugh had fallen asleep in Russell's bed and Russell had woken him up getting him under the covers, warm kisses slowly turning into an embrace and Hugh had opened around him, spreading his whole self out in invitation, no words but the occasional question and answer of whether it was all right, and when Russell's hand began to move on Hugh's cock while his prick slid in deep, Hugh had whispered his name and practically levitated off the bed as he came.

But if Hugh wants him on top, he can do that, he can grab the lube and take his time getting Hugh ready, putting his mouth everywhere it can reach, feeling Hugh relax like he didn't know he was tense at first. Hugh isn't playing games now, he isn't using his voice and his wicked words to drive Russell wild. He's given himself over to Russell's hands, and Russell whispers secret things, embarrassing things, he calls Hugh _sweetheart_ and _baby_ , he buries his tongue in Hugh's ass even though he's never really liked doing that because Hugh does it for him so willingly and it makes Russell feel so good.

"I love you," he says as his fingers move inside Hugh, and Hugh makes a noise that isn't quite human, it's a purr and a plea and a promise all in one, Russell has never heard anyone else make it, he doesn't know how he could survive without it. "Please never leave me, never..."

"Russ, you're the one who's always running from one place to the next. I'm the one who puts it in his contract that I don't go two weeks without seeing my family." Hugh's voice is as rough as the fingers sliding over Russell's cheek, catching in stubble, which Hugh massages with his thumb. "D'you understand what it means when I say I love you? I don't let people I love out of my life unless they force their way out. You'll have one hell of a time getting rid of me. The last man, I had him living in the flat below mine in two different cities until he made it clear it was him or my family, and I can't. That's not a choice."

"Hugh," says Russell because he doesn't trust himself to say anything else, and how ironic is it that _Hugh_ sounds so much like _you_ , like Russell could be talking to anyone else when there's no one but Hugh in his thoughts. He's never been good at covers and closets, he's incapable of keeping what he wants out of his thoughts or his words, he can only hope to keep whoever's watching him distracted by all the movement. "I will never want to be rid of you. I will never do anything to hurt anyone you love."

His fingers slide free and there's an awkward moment with the condom and then Russell presses inside Hugh, tries not to let the beauty of it make him go too fast. He feels the hair all over Hugh tickling him everywhere. He's made love with Hugh in various states of hairiness, shaved for Wolverine, trimmed neatly for photo shoots, and this natural state which is Russell's favorite because it's natural Hugh. He'll never suggest shaving Hugh as a kink. Especially after that business with the crazy fan who tossed a razor at him. Even though Russell would let Hugh do it to him or whatever else came out of Hugh's mouth whether Hugh really meant it or not. He wonders if he could quit smoking for Hugh, thank God Hugh's never asked, he'd try if Hugh wanted him to and maybe it would save his life someday and how could he fucking tell Hugh no to that?

"I could do this forever," Hugh grunts, his hips rising to meet Russell's with every thrust, prick sliding through Russell's slick fingers, and Russell thinks _yes God yes_ , fuck, he could too, if it meant never leaving this room again it might be worth it. Except he can't say it, though it's so hard when he's so close, with Hugh saying, "You make me want that. I'm terrified when I'm with you. I almost hope you're thinking of him. I have to run home and try to forget I can't only be yours..."

_Keep it in keep it in_ but Russell's never been good at not talking, especially when he's so close, when he can feel Hugh's ass squeezing him inside and he's tugging on Hugh's cock like it's his to command. "Haven't thought of anyone but you since the first time, even with other people I've only thought of you, I wish I was only yours." They're staring at each other, too much open, it's easier when the fucking itself is all he can think about, this must be why they so seldom fuck like this. "I love you!"

He comes too fast, like he's always afraid he will with Hugh, with barely time for a grunt of warning, but it doesn't matter because Hugh is groaning and spurting all over both their bellies, clenching around his cock. Like they're connected at the mind as well as the lower bits. Maybe they so seldom fuck like this because it's so hard to untangle themselves afterward, it's not worth bothering really, they wind up wrapped around each other like an old married couple and Russell can't live without that any more than he can live without making love to Hugh, he'd do this every single night if Hugh asked. 

But he doesn't say so. If what hurts Hugh is asking him to choose, then Russell has to find a way to stop asking. Even if he's never asked in words.

"I wouldn't give this up, you know," Hugh murmurs against him. "One way or another. I wouldn't let you change your mind."

"Neither would I." In Hugh's arms like this, it's easy to believe him. It's easy to believe himself. This isn't like anyone else, this isn't like anything else. _This is forever._

This time Russell might even believe it.


	4. At the Turning of the Years

New York is not such a big city that anyone can fully disappear. Hugh receives daily reminders of this when he walks out with his children or his dog: photographers can find him anywhere, tossing a ball or buying a coffee, biking to a meeting or entering a theater. Yet New York is big enough that sometimes Hugh forgets how small a world it can be. He isn't the only person who has ever tried to stash Russell away in a spot hidden from the subway lines. That doesn't bother Hugh -- he has Russell now, and if he can't keep Russell always, it will be because he couldn't balance all the things that tug them in different directions, not because of any ghost from the past. Still, sometimes Hugh forgets that those ghosts may be walking the same streets, shopping in the same markets, heading into the same out-of-the-way restaurants that Hugh prefers so no one will try to take his picture.

"Fancy meeting you here." The smile is so wide and seemingly so genuine that it takes Hugh a moment to recognize why his stomach is clenching, looking up at cheekbones so chiseled they put his own to shame. Even by movie star standards, Paul is ridiculously handsome, though Paul's eyes are colder than ice. Maybe it's just the way the irises look in dim restaurant light, but Hugh knows plenty of blue-eyed men and none of them has ever frozen him out so much with just a glance. Hugh has already started to put on his most-charming smile, the one Deb reminds him to use when she can see that his nerves are starting to fray, but that's probably not the best choice here. Already Deb and Jennifer are greeting one another, darting nervous glances at Hugh and Paul, giving them as much space as possible in the narrow restaurant entryway.

There's no point in bullshit, no _great to see you_ or _looking good_ , any of the things Hugh might have said if he'd run into anyone else in the business with whom he'd almost worked. And Jesus knows Hugh can't say it's a shame it didn't work out. He settles for complete honesty: "Fuck, mate. Forgot how tall you are."

Still smiling, Paul looks him over. "I haven't forgotten what you look like with your shirt off," cool yet amused, Paul's glance adding, _so I won't do anything stupid_. "Do you think anyone would have believed I could run you off your feet?"

No, there will be no reprieve. Mid-conversation with Jen about the kids, Deb catches his eye and pushes the corners of her mouth up. _Smile. Don't panic._ Hugh tries to chuckle self-deprecatingly, but it comes out too loud and too cheerful. "It's a shame we didn't get to find out," he says, meaning it and not meaning it, wishing he and Paul had been cast as rivals in a romantic comedy or enemies in a film with mobsters or drug lords, something that would have allowed them to become friends before the tidal wave called Russell crashed between them.

Paul manages the self-deprecating laugh much better than Hugh. "A musical was always a long shot for me. I know it wasn't your call."

The last word seems to echo, and Hugh tries not to let himself dwell on it or it will show in his face, the memory, the phone ringing, Hooper's voice, _I just got off the phone with Cameron Mackintosh, I'd like to talk to you about a different direction for Javert..._ Hugh hadn't thought about Paul for a moment. He'd said yes to everything bringing Russell in would mean. He has never for an instant regretted it.

Deb exclaims brightly over something Jennifer says, putting a hand on her arm. They, too, are not-talking about Russell; in fact, the last time Hugh and Deb saw Jen, it was on the set of the latest movie she and Russell were making together, or next-to-latest, Jen and Russell have done two in a row, there will be many premieres together in their futures. In the dark, ugly part of himself no one else gets to see, Hugh has wondered whether Paul had had anything to do with his wife accepting those roles, putting Paul once again in Russell's path. Even though Russell told Hugh that Paul was the one who ended it. Even though Russell led Hugh to believe that Paul broke Russell's heart long before Russell's comparatively minor sin of snatching a great role away.

Maybe Paul didn't consider it comparatively minor, since his career thus far has missed the rocket that Russell placed under Hugh more than once. It has never occurred to Hugh before that Paul might jealous of him about anything other than Javert, plus thus far being able to keep the wife and the force of nature too. "You look fantastic," Hugh says belatedly to Jennifer, struck by the realization that she is even more beautiful than Paul, without makeup or styling one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen. Hugh can see why Paul wouldn't want to risk losing that, not even for Russell, especially now that there are children. Though if rumors can be trusted, Hugh can also see why knowing Russell got there first might have been what made Jennifer irresistible to Paul in the first place.

"My hair's a mess from the wind. We're going to the ladies' room," Jen announces, holding the inner door open for Deb. She smiles at Hugh, as does Deb, who manages to convey a bit of what-can-I-do helplessness that Paul will take to be flattery. Paul waits for the inner door to close before he replies unheard to their backs:

"And we're going out for a smoke." Just as Paul's wife did for Hugh's wife, Paul holds the door for Hugh, his posture suggesting that he won't take no for an answer. It takes Paul's long legs only five long steps to reach the alley, turning, already pulling the cigarettes out of his pocket. "I suppose you don't."

It's impossible not to picture Paul and Russell leaning back against that wall together, passing a cigarette between them, fingers brushing, grinning at each other as their mouths wrap around the same spot on the filter. Of course Paul and Russell have shared cigarettes. Why this bothers Hugh so much when he might just as well have a picture in his head of Russell with his mouth wrapped around Paul's cock, he isn't sure. "One won't kill me," he replies. Deb may kill him for it later, but by then Deb may have other things to kill him for.

Paul lights the cigarette in his own mouth before handing it to Hugh, then lights another for himself. The message is clear: _We aren't going to be sharing everything._ It's been so many years since Hugh had smoke in his lungs that his eyes water with the effort not to cough, but he recognizes the smell-taste-tang of it from Russell, a sense memory he didn't know he was carrying around with him.

God, that taste makes him wish Russell were there and not on the other side of the world. Right now the gulf feels impossibly wide. He knows Russell told Paul about him right from the beginning, just like he knows Paul is the only one Russell still cries about sometimes, the one that got away without having to be pushed away. The one Russell doesn't have to name for Hugh to know who he's talking about.

"You all right?" Paul asks him, concern overriding smugness -- of course Paul had known Hugh didn't smoke, this was bullshit macho posturing and why had Hugh bothered -- and when Hugh finally lets the cough out, the tears come out too, spilling down his face. Jesus Christ, he's pathetic. The cigarette falls from his fingers. Paul tries to catch it, but his hand winds up catching Hugh's instead. "Hey," and now the smugness is gone completely, " _are_ you all right?" Hugh shakes his head, if he tries to speak he knows he'll sob, and Paul asks, far more gently than Hugh deserves, "Is this about him?"

It's the fact that Paul says _him_ , like there's no more need for Paul to explain he means Russell than Russell ever needs to explain when he means Paul, that cracks Hugh open. Paul may resent him but he knows Paul understands him. It all comes pouring out, the wonder and terror of it, and he's crying because it's all the things he can't tell Deb, like the nights he lies awake next to her thinking that if Russell called right then and said _come, now, and damn the consequences_ , Hugh would do it. He doesn't think he could help himself.

Paul listens to this at first in surprise, maybe with a side of mortification that Hugh is telling him so much, then with what looks to Hugh's watery eyes like relief. "Yeah, I know. Believe me, I know." The hand that squeezes Hugh's shoulder seems a bit hesitant, like Paul can't forget, especially touching him, that Hugh's got those muscles that are mostly for show but could probably do some damage if Hugh decided to take a swing at someone, and Paul doesn't know what to do with the blubbering mess that Hugh has become. "Here." Paul pushes his own cigarette into Hugh's fingers, and even though Hugh has refused every single time Russell tried to get him to share a cigarette, he takes a drag. Then promptly has a coughing fit.

By the time he can talk again, the tears are mostly about the acrid smoke and his tonsils that won't work right for days and why is he touching this disgusting thing, what in fuck is wrong with him, he says that last aloud and makes Paul laugh, which makes Hugh laugh too. "Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters and hands Paul back what's left of the cigarette, which Paul drops and crushes underfoot. "I'm sorry. You didn't deserve -- I'm really sorry."

"Don't be. I rather enjoyed that." Paul says it as if he's joking, but Hugh can still see the satisfaction in the smile that's so much more real than the dazzling one with which Paul had greeted him inside the restaurant. The hand squeezes Hugh's shoulder again. "I need reminders that I made the right choice, and I needed that one."

Hugh finds an old Starbucks napkin in one of his pockets. He wipes his eyes and blows his nose. He's ashamed and disgusted with himself and a bit lightheaded, with a headache threatening from the smoke and the tears, which might make him blow this conversation up into something much bigger than it should be, an awkward encounter with his present lover's ex, except Russell isn't just some lover and Paul isn't just some ex. "Is that supposed to be advice?" he asks, only half kidding.

"No." Paul's expression is serious again, uneasy and sad. "I wouldn't presume. Your life isn't my life. And even if...no. Imagine what it was like for me, knowing he was with you on that set. Having his fucking singalongs with all his friends." Hugh nods, grateful for the honesty, doubting there's anything he could say that would make it hurt less. "You either sign on for the whole thing or you can see where it ends. I had a wife and a kid and a stepkid and a damn good life, and I already knew I was being greedy. I couldn't keep hoping for that phone call. But I don't know you well enough to know what you really want."

That isn't Paul's life...not any more. In the dark, ugly part of himself no one else gets to see, Hugh thinks Paul stopped living that life because he knew that phone call would never come. Whereas for Hugh...no. Things are different now, Russell's different now. Dani's gone, Dean's even more gone, Alan's made it clear that his own career comes first, Russell's taking on jobs like something's chasing behind him.

And Paul left. It's possible that if Paul had hung on a little longer, Hugh would be the one who got away and not the one.

He's scaring Deb, Hugh knows, more than he ever did with John even when John was living in the bedroom below Deb's, because John could never have been Russell. Even if Hugh doesn't tell her what he's thinking when he tosses and turns and can't sleep, she must have some idea. He's probably scaring her now, out here talking to Paul, she and Jen will know exactly what they're saying -- or more reasonably not-saying -- but what's between them. He wipes off his face again. "I guess we should go in before they come looking for us," he says.

Paul's smile is enigmatic. "What do you suppose they're talking about?"

Hugh thinks about how different things must be for Jen, who is independently wealthy and famous, who apparently has no problem getting parts especially since she's known to work well with difficult actors despite the whispers Hugh has heard about her eating disorders and health problems, whose nails Hugh could not help noticing have been gnawed to shreds...things he wouldn't dare ask Paul about. Things must be different for Jen, too, if those rumors can be trusted and she knows what it's like to be at the center of the Russell tsunami, even briefly. "They'll be past how the kids are and have moved on to decent out-of-the-way places to eat," Hugh predicts, sounding confident now. "How did you find out about this one? I thought you lived in Brooklyn."

Just like that, the moment passes, the conversation turns to their domestic lives, the difficulties of transportation and school schedules and family halfway around the world. Paul is sarcastic and wry and witty, not performing but naturally funny, he has Hugh laughing, at ease as they push through the inner door to find their wives seated at the bar, seemingly engrossed in conversation though they turn as one at Hugh's approach.

"We were wondering whether we needed to come get you," says Deb with a breezy smile before wrinkling her nose as Hugh leans in to put an arm around her. "You stink of cigarettes! Did you..."

"My fault. I shouldn't have kissed him," says Paul so unironically that Hugh blushes, which the others find hilarious. There's a bit of hooting as Deb scolds Hugh for smoking before Jen says matter of factly that they should share a table, and they do, a wonderful meal in a quiet corner where they complain about directors and lament having pre-teens whom they regularly humiliate. They all end up exchanging e-mail and numbers, and while Jen and Deb are comparing notes on mobile address books, Paul says quietly, "If you want to talk, there's that. Though if you don't, I won't take it personally."

"We're bound to run into each other," Hugh says, smiling at him. Paul's a good bloke. Hugh's glad for that.

When he's finally home and Deb is off performing her nightly ablutions, he does what Russell would do, doesn't worry about the time and calls him. It gives Hugh some satisfaction that he wakes Russell up. Russell is hoarse if happy greeting him, Hugh can picture him rubbing sleep from his eyes when Hugh says, "Guess who I bumped into, and had dinner with?"

Russ asks _who_ and Hugh says _him_ , just like that, and he can hear Russell, slightly irritated, start to demand _"him" who?_ when Russell realizes. There's complete silence on the end of the line for many seconds, then Russell asks, wide awake now, "How was dinner?"

Hugh tells him that it was great, Deb had wanted Italian, he'd actually allowed himself some pasta, Jen picked the wine, and Russell says _hmm_ a lot. "I have a confession," adds Hugh, and when Russell drawls, _yeah?_ , Hugh tells him, "I shared a cigarette with him."

"You shared a cigarette?" The tone is more incredulous than anything. In an American news anchor accent, Russell launches into a lecture about the dangers of smoking, and Hugh, who has been slowly divesting himself of pieces of his clothes through the conversation, does what he's been half thinking about half the night, pushes his pants down and touches himself. It's Russell's voice that gets him going, but he doesn't even try to block the pictures in his head of what Paul would look like fucking Russell -- he's sure it was that way more often than not, oh yeah, he can figure out Paul's secrets just like Paul can figure out Hugh's. His breath stutters, and Russell asks, "Why?"

"Next best thing. I haven't seen you for weeks." He lets out a little moan and imagines that he can hear Russell shift in response an ocean away. "You haven't called."

"I texted you yesterday." Russell's voice has gone a little hoarse again. Hugh pictures him getting comfortable in bed, kicking the covers down. Paul's so tall it would have had to be Russell's head under his chin to snuggle, not the other way around; Hugh and Russell can switch back and forth all night. "I sent you pictures."

"Not pictures of you. And you didn't tell me if you jacked off when you got back from scouting locations." A soft whine of encouragement. Hugh gives his own cock a stroke. "You didn't tell me if you thought about me fucking you on those carpets."

"I think about you fucking me everywhere. I jacked off in this bed last night thinking about you fucking me in it." Oh, Hugh's cock likes that image, though it's also still throbbing to the conjured image of Russell's cock disappearing into Paul's mouth, Paul's eyes warming as they look up at Russell. Christ, this is perverted. "What do you jack off thinking about?"

Hugh feels his cheeks growing red, he grins, God, Russell knows him as well as he knows Russell. "You, on all fours -- are you on all fours?" he asks and hears rustling. "With your fingers in your ass for me." Now there's a moan. It's much too dangerous to say _turn on the camera_ , and anyway maybe that would be a disappointment, it would only be one angle, like bad porn, it wouldn't be all the ways he's picturing Russell now and he'd never thought he'd like to watch but he'd watch Paul fuck Russell, hard and punishing, as long as it was past-tense Paul who obviously hadn't expected to be replaced so soon and so completely. There's no point in jealousy, especially not in the past tense, but Hugh knows that Russell can drive himself crazy being jealous over something that someone did before Russell even met him and Hugh's feeling a tiny bit sadistic. "You know, he is very handsome. I can see why you'd want to suck on his cigarettes."

Russell half-moans, half-growls into the phone. "Bastard. I'm on all fours. Keep talking." Hugh smiles some more. "These days I don't think about anyone but you." And that might even be true. It might make it worth it, having Russell on the other side of the world where he can miss Hugh. "I think about calling you all the time but I don't want you to think -- I promised I wouldn't get in the way of your family. Do you know how much I hate the idea that he can have dinner with you like that?"

"You were at that dinner. There wasn't a second when someone at that table wasn't thinking of you. I cried on his shoulder about you." Russell chokes a laugh and Hugh adds, "Really. He handed me the fag and I forgot to smoke it. I was bawling, Rusty." He remembers the feel of Paul's hand squeezing his shoulder, the nervousness betrayed in those long, long fingers. "He's a good bloke."

"He's not you. No one is, Hugh." The words are going straight to his cock now. "You know what I want with you, I just can't tell you, because I promised."

"I want it too, Rusty." He can say it like this, over the phone when they're getting each other off, like maybe it only three-quarters counts. "Do you think this is enough for me when I've been balls-deep in you listening to you tell me that you love me?" He loves Russell's ragged groans, he loves the picture in his head of Russell making love to himself for Hugh. "Do you think anything compares to telling you to get on your knees and suck my cock and seeing how quickly you do it?"

"Love when you tell me," Russell grunts, breathless, the bed creaking loudly enough for Hugh to hear. He doesn't dare make as much noise, he's in family space, there are too many people too close. Still, he has one foot wrapped around the base of the chair, he's thrusting into his own hand. He's expecting pleas for more dirty talk from Russell -- Russell loves when Hugh calls him and tells him all the positions in which he wants to fuck him -- he's not expecting, "Love telling you I love you."

"Love you too," Hugh moans and something breaks loose in him, whatever came unanchored when he first looked at Paul who is after all younger and less famous yet somehow found the strength not to give himself body and soul to what Hugh can no longer live without. "You're what I need. I'm yours." He never talks like this at home, but he can't help it, "You own me, Russ, you know you --"

There's a strangled cry over the line, the thump of a bed being rocked into a wall, that and Hugh's own hand are all it takes. Russell doesn't have to be in the same room or on the same continent for Hugh to come for him, hissing his name because he doesn't dare scream it the way he wants to. His heart is pounding as his hips collapse back into the chair

"You there?" Russell asks after a long pause. His voice sounds thick, like he's been crying.

"Yeah. I'm always here. You believe me, don't you?" Because Hugh has to know, he asks, "What happened with him, at the end? How did you -- leave things?"

Russell's quiet for a while, giving Hugh time to clean himself up with his shirt that's going in the laundry anyway. "He told me he couldn't," Russell finally replies. His voice sounds quiet and introspective but not pained. "And I told him...what could I say? That I would always love him." Another pause. "And then I let him go. Didn't call. Didn't really try to stay friends, because we couldn't. _Les Mis_ made it easy. I don't think he'll ever forgive me."

"He knows it wasn't your call," Hugh cuts in before realizing it might not be true. Paul had said it wasn't Hugh's call. He probably does think it was Russell's.

Russell coughs. Cigarettes, thinks Hugh. "I don't mean for taking the part. That's business -- I made sure Jen got both, and he knows it. I mean because now he knows it wasn't true."

"What --" Oh. "You don't love him any more?" Hugh can't help it if his voice shakes.

"I love you more. I love you more than I ever loved anyone." The words are in Hugh's mouth like too much smoke, he's choking on them, but Russell is still talking. "Don't say anything, because I don't want you to say it if you don't feel the same way, and I know you don't want to say it if you do feel the same way."

 _You know I do._ Something comes clear in Hugh's mind. "The difference between me and him. I saw it. I think I reminded him what he gave up, but he reminded me that I can't. Whatever it takes. Never giving up. You know exactly how much I love you."

"Me too." Russell's voice is a long sigh of relief. If they were in the same bed, Hugh would wriggle under Russell's chin and let Russell hold him all night. "I'll run you off your feet."

The hairs stand up on the back of Hugh's neck just a little. He laughs softly. "You already did."


	5. Nothing That I Blame You For

Fucking premieres. Even for jobs Russell loves, they're a pain in the ass, made bearable when he gets sent to Moscow or Rio or someplace he's always wanted to see. What he wants to see when he's in New York or Sydney isn't on a red carpet. For the tough jobs, the premieres are nearly intolerable, and he's known all along that this one will be a bitch -- not just nosy questions about his own religious beliefs, which he's willing to answer in the hope they'll lead to an actual intelligent conversation, but accusations and assumptions that remind him of how many stupid people there are in the world, particularly in the States. He's been pretending to smile all damn day, trying to look relaxed and honored to be there, trying not to think about where he'd rather be or with whom.

At least he has Jen with him at this one. Their approach to the work is similar, she doesn't get rattled by the small things, and she doesn't have much patience for stupidity either, though she hides it better behind her smile. As she told one interviewer, they have a very easy intimacy. She brings with her the blessing and curse that's Paul, but if Paul had to walk away from Russell for someone else, Russell's glad it's Jen. She put up with a hell of a lot of shit from both of them and rarely complained. It isn't as if Paul broke things off because she put her foot down. It was always much more complicated between the three of them, even at the beginning when all of them were supposedly dating other people, not crossing personal and professional lines.

It doesn't hurt so fucking much to see Paul any more that Russell can't be happy to see him, and greet him, and hug him with flashbulbs going off in their faces. It doesn't make him cry. If anyone looks at the photos, they'll see not just what Russell wants them to see, but what's true: that despite a somewhat complicated history (everyone knows Paul's name was linked to Javert before Russell's, everyone knows Russell's name was linked to Jen before Paul's), their friendship is stronger than all that. Russell has plenty of time to ruminate on this while he's watching Jen play his intimate companion in this movie, now she and Paul are even on that count.

His phone vibrates in his pocket with forty minutes left in the film. And even though he hasn't seen it all the way through yet with the music and effects, even though he's really enjoying himself, both for what Darren has created and for the way he can hear the audience reacting, Russell excuses himself to check it because he knows who it is, though God knows what time it is in Africa. Hugh must have stayed up all night to be able to text him. So he's smiling when he turns on the screen, though the smile disappears when he sees what Hugh has sent him.

It's Russell himself, hugging Paul. And talking to Paul with their hands touching, and with his arm around Paul's waist, one after another -- pictures taken in sequence, probably ninety seconds of his life, all told, but scrolling like this, it seems endless, as if he and Paul had stood there looking for excuses to touch for some endless stretch of time. The glasses don't hide the happy crinkles in the corners of Paul's eyes and in these tiny photos on the phone screen they look genuine, though even inches away from Paul's face, Russell hadn't been sure -- he knows Paul hates this as much as Jen, being paraded on the red carpet as if that and not the work is what their profession is about.

 _You knew I would have to_ , he types to Hugh. And then, in separate messages, one after the other, _How is Tanzania?_ and _What are you doing awake at this hour?_

The replies come out of order, though very quickly, as if Hugh has started typing one text before Russell has sent the next. Obviously sitting with the phone, waiting for Russell, though Hugh must have guessed that Russell would be in the theater with hundreds of people and would be expected to smile and shake hands and suck up to some more of them after the movie ended. _Morocco you ass_ , says the first, and _You had to hug him?_ Then a long, seemingly interminable pause before, _Did you honestly think I would sleep tonight?_

No, it's not fucking fair, this is not Russell's fault. He'd invited Hugh, he'd practically begged him to come, though Hugh insisted that he absolutely had to go with Deb on this trip, there was no other way.

Which does Russell want to believe: that Deb planned this trip with selfish motives, to keep Hugh away from Russell at this premiere, or that Deb planned this trip thinking she was doing Hugh a favor, sparing him the probable sight of Russell and Paul sneaking out for a smoke together, laughing together, greeting -- inevitably -- hugging?

Maybe Hugh is the one who decided to avoid that scene, flying off with #TheDebs for some private time with #family and #friends, not so private that Hugh isn't bragging about it online, even if #YouKnowWhoYouAre isn't in on this one. Hugh's Twitter followers could be forgiven for wondering how #YouKnowWhoYouAre feels about the photo of himself that Hugh posted earlier, doing stretches with his ass in the air, surrounded by other fit men. _You need a better workout tomorrow_ , Russell texts back, fumbling over the touchscreen in the dim lobby light. And then _I didn't kiss him_.

 _Not with his wife right there_ , Hugh agrees. Maybe there's an implied question -- Russell could have done what he'd done before, with Paul and then with Hugh years later, dragged him off to the lav and kissed him there, unzipped his trousers and -- no, Hugh knows that's not going to happen. Never going to happen again. Not even if Paul wanted it, which Paul has made very clear he does not, or, at least, if he does want it, he can't allow it. Tossing a couple of movie roles Jen's way isn't going to make up for _Les Mis_ , and having another baby isn't going to make the Paul-and-Jen marriage bulletproof.

 _We were talking about his baby girl_ , types Russell. _That's why we were smiling_.

_You never once thought about sucking his dick?_

That's not fair either. It isn't that Russell wants Paul now; what he wants is for Hugh to be right there instead of half a world away. Although -- and this hadn't occurred to Russell before -- maybe it was for Paul's sake that Hugh didn't show up. Hugh must have known that there would be pictures of Russell and Paul greeting each other on the red carpet, but if Hugh had been there, there would have been pictures of Russell and Hugh, maybe more pictures than there would have been of Paul, maybe even more pictures than there would have been of Jen.

Of all of them, Hugh is the huge star now, the one who can do no wrong as far as the press is concerned, the face that can sell anything. He'd tossed out a message to his online fans, telling Russell and Darren that he couldn't wait to see _Noah_ , and he'd signed it hugs and kisses, though Darren and probably everyone else suspected those were just for Russell. Hugh's been less and less careful, he's been making proclamations about being in love and forgetting to tag #TheDebs as often as he tags #YouKnowWhoYouAre. Anyone who buys into the legend of Hugh-and-Deb probably assumes those are one and the same, but anyone who's been paying attention would know better.

He's taking too long to respond, Hugh is going to get nervous. Russell types, _Thought about sucking YOUR dick_ , which they'll both know isn't the whole story, but it's not Russell's fault if Russell has memories and all those wishes left over from when Paul left. It hadn't been sudden yet at the same time it had, there hadn't been a chance for one more time, it was like Paul had needed to quit cold turkey, though at that time Russell had thought it would be easier to give up smoking, he'd had withdrawal symptoms, he'd had the fucking shakes, he'd cried for three straight days, and Dani hated him for it. (He'd cried the same way after she left, freezing in Iceland after filming the movie whose ending he's missing now, but by then it had been much too late.)

It's not his fault that Paul still smells the same, and looks the same, and his cock in Russell's mouth would probably taste the same, even if Hugh gives Russell things that Paul never did and probably never would have even if there had been no Jen and no kids. It's not that Russell wants to go back.

 _Your own fault if you got jealous. You could have been my date_ , he taps out.

_I am your date. Get in the loo and let me show you._

Oh fuck. This is dangerous, just as dangerous as if Hugh were here in person giving him that look that Russell can't resist, that would make Russell blow him in a bathroom stall if Hugh asked or bend over a toilet and let Hugh fuck his ass while he bit down on a wadded paper towel to muffle the noises he'd be making. He could claim that he couldn't, but what he types is, _Give me a minute._

There's nobody in the VIP area besides a lone security guy, and maybe Russell will hit the jackpot, maybe there will be a separate maternity room with a chair for nursing and a changing table for some obnoxiously wealthy donor. It wouldn't surprise Russell if New York or California passed a law requiring rooms for breastfeeding mothers in big gathering places. He isn't that lucky, but there's no one near the men's room and the stall doors go practically to the floor. He locks himself in the end one.

 _All right you bastard._ Even before he can send the message, a picture comes in from Hugh, a blurry iPhone shot of one eye that Russell would recognize anywhere.

_See?_

_Fucking nutter_ , he types, thinking that this should seem ridiculous, pathetic, they're too old for this, they're better than this, except his heart is racing. _Thought you were sending a dick pic._

 _That looks better in person_ , Hugh replies, and Russell grins, nods at his phone. _Hard to get decent reception in Morocco. Going to jack off for me?_

 _You expect me to text and jack off at the same time?_ Moments after he's sent it, the mobile lights up, vibrating in his hand, it's Hugh calling, Valjean's smiling face appearing on Russell's screen since he's never bothered to change the picture. "You twat," he says, though he's grinning ear to ear. "I'm supposed to be watching my movie and you're supposed to be in bed."

"I am in bed." Hugh is smiling too, Russell can hear it in his voice, though he can hear other things, relief that Russell picked up and embarrassment to be calling in the first place. "Why aren't you watching your movie? You didn't have to leave your phone on."

"Yeah I did," Russell tells him, and for several seconds neither one speaks, they don't need to, Russell could almost believe when he presses his fingers to the stall barrier that Hugh is just on the other side. However Hugh felt about going to Africa instead of coming to this premiere, Russell knows that Hugh made sure he could still call, he could still text, they'd never have a disaster like those couple of days when Russell had been filming in Turkey and getting any kind of message to Hugh was nearly impossible, it had almost driven them both insane. "Christ, Hugh, if you were --"

There's a sound, the bathroom door opening, and Russell freezes. "What?" Hugh asks, throaty.

"Have to go," hisses Russell and flushes the toilet, holding the phone so Hugh can hear the sound. Then he starts to type _Someone came in sorry_ though he's pretty sure he misspelling half the words.

The footsteps come toward his stall, then stop. Russell's not at a good angle to see shoes or anything else. Did someone come in looking for him? Nah, that's paranoid, probably someone wants to do a line or maybe it's a guy with what's that condition where you can't piss with anyone else within earshot, in either case looking for privacy. In which case Russell huddling in the stall might qualify as cruelty. He unlocks the door, peering out.

"Hi." Oh fuck. Of course. Russell jabs his finger down to send the message, though he bets it's obvious what he's doing, whom he's texting. It was probably obvious why he snuck out of the theater in the first place to the only people who were paying attention, and Paul can see the mobile in Russell's hand. "I couldn't get through that last part of the flood without a smoke. Join me?"

This has to be allowed. Even Hugh has shared a cigarette with Paul, though Hugh will probably be angry, really genuinely angry, which is something Hugh almost never lets anyone see. Only people he completely loves and completely trusts. "Sure," Russell says, "hang on," and goes to wash his hands, half-hiding the lit screen in his hand, typing, _GTG back when I can_. Maybe now Hugh will go get some fucking sleep. It's not like they could really talk each other off in a restroom in the next few minutes anyway, when very soon Russell will need to be shaking hands and pretending to listen with great interest to other people's opinions about the Bible. He hardly has time for a smoke.

He hopes Hugh can do those calculations and realize that Russell couldn't even if he wanted to.

Paul leads him outside, through some exit Paul must have discovered earlier since there are no photographers, or maybe Paul knows the building because he's been here enough times before. This is Paul's city now -- not just Hugh's. Paul's not a nomad like Russell. It's one of the things that doomed them.

Russell has never forgotten how sexy Paul's fingers are, so long and elegant, especially when he's lighting up. He takes the fag from Paul, summoning a smile. "Did you really come get me for a smoke?"

"I didn't come hoping for anything else, if that's what you mean." Heat slams into Russell's face, Jesus, that wasn't what he meant, Paul should know better -- all right, Paul does know better, he's being sarcastic, has it really been so long that Russell doesn't remember that dry tone? "I don't want things to be strange between us. I'm not upset about _Les Mis_ any more. And I'm not upset about..."

Paul gestures at the mobile that's now in Russell's pocket. Instinctively Russell puts his hand over it, yes, it's safe, he hasn't lost Hugh, it's not like Paul can see Hugh smiling up as Valjean from the screen, Russell's hidden it like a fucking piece of porn. The gesture makes Paul grin.

"He told you we bumped into each other, right? Last fall over pasta?"

"He told me." The smoke tastes so good on Russell's tongue. He remembers tasting it on Paul's tongue, tries to imagine Hugh doing this with Paul, sharing a smoke, something Hugh has never let Russell see him do, though Russell guessed he indulged once in a while. Russell had assumed Hugh abstained around him to guilt him into trying to quit, but maybe Hugh doesn't want to smoke with him because Hugh himself isn't sure he'd want to stop sharing that pleasure, once begun.

At least Paul has lit another. They won't be passing this one back and forth between them like they used to do, in bed or wherever they'd stolen away for what at first they both pretended was just a bit of fun, a cockeyed character exploration, nothing serious. "I'd been so angry at you both," admits Paul. "About _Les Mis_...all right, not just about _Les Mis_. But he's not an easy person to hate. And he really loves you."

"I know." Tears sting Russell's eyes. He blames the smoke. "I'm trying so hard not to fuck that up."

The smoke clears from the movement as Paul turns to look at him, a bit owlish with the glasses on, still as handsome as ever, aging better than Russell, those eyes as transparent yet opaque as ever. "You didn't fuck it up with me..." Paul begins.

"I know that too. I remember what you said when you left." Even after all this time and everything that's happened, he can't keep the bitterness completely from his voice, Christ, that had hurt, one of the worst fucking things that had ever happened to him, it might have been easier if he _had_ fucked it up and not if Paul had just... "You chose someone else. You chose a different life. I understand that." Russell hears his voice cracking, takes a long drag on the cigarette. "I don't blame you. She's beautiful. She's wonderful. She's just what you always wanted."

"You know that if there had been any way I could have..."

 _Kept you both_ hangs in the air between them as Paul lights another pair of cigarettes. Smoking can only help Russell keep it together so much, and very soon, any minute really, he'll have to go back in and plaster on a smile and pretend to be having a wonderful time at the premiere. He can't do this now -- fuck -- he can't do this ever --

Paul takes a deep breath. "...if there had been any way I could have stolen that part from you," he finishes. The sardonic tone is strained, but somehow Paul pulls it off, and that's enough to make Russell grin.

"The critics wouldn't have been any nicer to you."

"Definitely not. I'm not as lovable as Hugh or as pretty as Anne. And, if I can tell you a secret, it's a shit show. Overwrought, bombastic -- none of the charm of _Rocky Horror_ \--"

Jesus, Russell has missed this Paul, the one who always has a quip, who can wink and push forward through just about anything. Who can make Russell laugh and cry at the same time. "I've blocked people on Twitter for less," he warns, and Paul elbows him.

"That's why I'm not on Twitter. It's for twits."

A muffled roar from inside turns both their heads. The movie must have ended. People are clapping and cheering. Russell is happy for Darren, and happy for himself. It won't be so hard to smile and accept congratulations. If only this door didn't have to close.

"Ah. There's our cue. Jen will wonder what happened to me."

Russell smiles ruefully. In the brief prehistoric epoch when he'd shared cigarettes with Jen, before Paul had quietly engulfed them both, Jen had said precisely the same thing about her little boy, that if she didn't get going, he would wonder what had happened to her. "I'm sure she'll know what happened to you," he guesses.

"And you're right. But she'll worry."

A long moment passes, then Paul steps closer and Russell feels a spike of adrenaline shoot through him. Is Paul planning to hug him again? To kiss him? Does he want one last one? Hugh would probably forgive him, eventually at least, after punishing him in the most subtle of ways. But the sense memory of dozens of sweet kisses has been eclipsed already by the final one, kissing Paul goodbye, tasting of tears and bitterness, all those months ago. No -- not worth the confusion, not for one more. Not when it's over. 

Paul must see it in his face, because Paul only takes what's left of the cigarette from between Russell's fingers, drops it on the ground, stubs it out with his shoe. "See you inside."

Then he's gone. The mobile is still warm in Russell's pocket. He pulls it out. Hugh hasn't sent him any further messages since Russell's hasty farewell in the bathroom. If Hugh has any sense, he'll be fast asleep now, waiting till morning on his side of the world to try to reach Russell again.

 _Sorry about that_ , Russell types. _Got interrupted. Call you later?_

He's about to put the phone away when it vibrates in his hand. _Was it anyone important?_

 _Not exactly._ He hopes that'll be enough to make Hugh think it might have been a studio exec or a director, yet somehow Hugh can read through him even without his voice to give him away.

_Was it him?_

Not any more, thinks Russell. Never again. _All he had left to say to me was goodbye_ , he texts to Hugh. And it's true. _He sends you his best._ It might not have been spoken as such, but that's true as well.

_Good. Still have a shitload of PR to do?_

A changed subject. A reprieve. Smiling, Russell types, _Talk shows. Then Dublin, Edinburgh, Cardiff, and on to London. We on track?_ The plan had been for Hugh to get to London to do _X-Men_ publicity just before Russell arrived that same evening, but plans in this business have a way of changing. And Russell doesn't know if Hugh is still bothered about...

 _Not waiting that long for you_ , Hugh sends back. Russell pictures him with the pirate beard Hugh's currently sporting for his next movie and his cock perks up just a bit. _Call me from our hotel._ The one where Russell is staying is the one he stayed in while he was filming Noah, the same room even, and he has very detailed memories of being there with Hugh when he was first realizing all the things that were now possible for them.

_You know I will. A couple of hours for me to be all yours. Then London. Now go sleep._

The last text for the night is pure Hugh, obedient and open-ended, full of promise. _I will. Love you Rusty. XO_


	6. All Our Debts Are Paid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to dementordelta, who wrote this chapter with me.

First day of the press tour and everyone thinks that Hugh's excited for it, that a couple of days relaxing in Marrakesh have recharged him, that he's showing off the friendly professional demeanor that's served him so well over the years. For a change he doesn't have to hide that he's practically bouncing out of his skin.

 _Tonight, tonight_ , he texts to Russell, following up on his _One Day More_ message of the evening before -- they could have fun with a duet if they got out of bed for long enough to find a piano -- not knowing if Russell will pick up on the _West Side Story_ reference, but it doesn't matter whether Russell gets it or not. Russell knows what Hugh's been thinking while Russell's been drinking his way across the British Isles from premiere to premiere. He's kept Hugh updated all day via public messages, Guinness in Dublin, single malt in Edinburgh, and when Hugh has been able to check his mobile between interviews, sending out pictures of his own, there's Russell surrounded by circles of fans, beaming for cameras, looking just as buoyant as Hugh feels despite the long day of work.

Finally, finally, there's the knock, then a blur of movement, the door being slammed shut, before Russell flings himself into Hugh's arms, clinging through the coat that London demands even in spring. "Fuck me," a winded puff of cigarette-stained breath, "Oh God, couldn't wait to see you!"

All day Hugh has imagined playing a scene, posturing, feigning indignation, working himself and Russell into a fervor -- keeping it exciting, keeping it fresh -- but now that he actually has Russell in his arms, he can't do it, even though he knows it turns Russell feverish and frantic when Hugh threatens to spank him or punish him. It's enough to squeeze him tightly, kissing the side of his face, growling, "You did have a lot of distractions in New York."

"You know I wanted you to be there." Russell is clinging so hard that Hugh can feel rather than see his head shake. "You didn't need to stay away. If I hadn't known I was going to see you here, I'd have gone crazy."

It's out now and it's out of the way, and maybe it's silly, but the nervous knot Hugh hasn't been able to unravel since he saw those pictures from New York finally comes loose, even though all his demons have been on display since New York, even though he's let Russell see way too many of his insecurities and faults and flaws. "I know, Rusty. I needed you here, like this." He leans back just enough to press his mouth over Russell's, which is just enough for Russell to get a hand between them, tugging at his clothes.

"You're fucking sexy when you're jealous," Russell manages to get out between kisses, yanking impatiently on Hugh's shirt. "But it's completely unnecessary."

Hugh's head knows that, but his heart gets filled will crazy thoughts when he knows Russell is with someone else -- with _him_ especially -- even if it's at a huge public event where effusive greetings are expected. He knows Russell well enough to be able to see that Russell's pleasure at seeing Paul was genuine, even if Russell was only happy that Paul was glad to see him too and not bitter over _Les Mis_.

So Hugh starts pawing at Russell's coat, babbling, catching Russell in his arms when Russell practically trips over his own feet while kicking off his shoes. "It was the hug. And all the smiles. And touching -- God, do you know what it does to me to see you --" Hugh almost says _touching an old lover_ , but he manages to stop himself. He's never going to use that word. Instead he grabs Russell by the belt buckle and hauls him toward the bed, growling. "To see you touching that one?"

"The smiles were a contractual obligation." Clothes finally off, Russell falls back on the bed with gratifying speed. "And the touching -- Christ, nothing compared to this!"

Grinning, a little wild, Hugh kicks his own jeans off and straddles him. "Oh I'm going to do so much more than touch you, baby." Time to regain some control, for his own sake as well as because Russell likes Hugh in control. He gives Russell a little swat on the side of his ass, not really a proper smack, but it's enough to make Russell moan and raise his legs willingly in the air.

"You know you can do anything you want to me!"

Hugh slides his hands along the insides of Russell's thighs. He knows he looks possessive and he doesn't care. "You belong to me, Rusty. Only to me." Fuck, but he loves those noises Russell makes, the way he moans and babbles and tries to lift his legs even higher so Hugh can see his asshole. Leaning in, Hugh follows his hands with his mouth, kissing down the inside of one thigh, bypassing Russell's cock to lick up the other thigh. "Now. Have you touched yourself since the last time we talked?"

He bets he already knows the answer, and sure enough, Russell whimpers, his cheeks coloring. "I -- on the plane across."

That puts images in Hugh's head which make him growl. "In the loo or under the blanket?" he asks as he dips his head, licking Russell's balls.

There's a gasp, then a cry, and Russell reaches down to try to clutch at Hugh's shoulder. "Oh fuck! I'm not crazy enough to do it in my seat. Not even rereading your messages -- don't want to get arrested!" Hugh can't speak around the mouthful of Russell's balls, but he manages a satisfied hum, rubbing a finger around Russell's asshole. "Just the once. I tried to call you when I got to the hotel -- you know that!"

"Mmmmm, I know. I was going crazy while you were in New York, thinking about what you and -- what you might be doing." He feels resistance tighten Russell's body and holds up a hand to stop him from speaking. "I know, you weren't doing anything. It doesn't matter that I know you weren't doing anything. My mind just went there."

Russell raises his head, shaking it urgently, so that the whole bed rocks with the motion. "I didn't think about him. I swear. I spent the whole night thinking about you."

"I know, baby." Hugh blows lightly across Russell's wet balls. "I know you weren't trying to make me jealous, and it was my own stupid fault for thinking that..."

"Don't say stupid," Russell manages to get out, though he's shivering from what Hugh's mouth is doing. "I'd've felt the same way if I knew you were seeing an ex. Well -- actually I'd have tried to crash the party."

Next time, Hugh may do just that, even if he's supposed to be in another city. He loves the idea of Russell barging in uninvited to one of his own premieres, intimidating everyone, making publicists and execs laugh nervously as they let him have his way. Grinning, Hugh turns his face, rolling his tongue across the puckered skin and thrusting it inside.

Nothing, not even fucking Russell, ever pleases Hugh quite as much as the way Russell cries out when he puts his tongue right here, even if it's muffled by the way Russell pushes against his face. For a few minutes Russell doesn't utter a single coherent syllable, trying alternately to impale himself on Hugh's tongue and to encourage Hugh to lick everywhere else down there. "Yes! Oh God! Oh there! Oh fuck! Always want you to show up and drag me away and do this!"

"Wish I could have. Missed you so much." Hugh fucks earnestly with his tongue as Russell claws at the sheets to avoid digging his fingernails into Hugh's skin.

"I left my mobile on. I wanted you to call. I wanted -- oh fuck! I wanted this!" Again Hugh blows softly against his wet ass. Of course he's going to give Russell everything Russell wants. He can't resist giving Russell anything Russell wants. "Want you inside me! Or coming on my face! Anything!"

Hugh shakes his head. "Going to be balls deep inside you and make you come, screaming my name." He loves the way Russell writhes urgently when he talks like that, knowing that on a good night he can make Russell come just from rubbing against him and talking to him like that. That's not what Hugh wants tonight, though, so he knows better than to wait too long, shifting up for long enough to grab the lube he put in the nighttable drawer. He's reaching for a condom, too, when Russell says, "Leave it."

"Leave it?"

"I haven't been with anyone else since we started and I've been tested twice since then. They wouldn't let me play a Kryptonian without a clean bill of health, and weirdly enough they wouldn't let me be Noah either. So unless you have reason to think you --"

"Oh God, Rusty," whispers Hugh. He's dreamed of this but didn't think he'd ever dare ask for it, because asking would have meant having to find out for real whether this is real or whether he just pretends it is when he and Russell aren't together. "Fox makes me have them, too -- full physical before we start every movie." His fingers are trembling as he hastily squeezes out lube, sliding one effortlessly into the moist heat that's Russell, then another, eyes going wide. "Did you --"

Russell is blushing. "I stretched myself some before I came up. In case you didn't have all night." The thought of Russell doing that to himself almost sends Hugh over the edge, he slaps the lube onto his own cock awkwardly, trying not to rub it. Russell is watching this avidly. "Now come inside me!"

"Not coming before you." It's a promise Hugh isn't sure he can keep, but he's going to try, squeezing his cock as he holds it steady, bracing himself to push it into that heat. He thinks about all the things that made him unhappy earlier in the week, not being with Russell, not even being able to talk to Russell, knowing where Russell was and who he might be with while Hugh had been stuck picking up an award he didn't really care about, wishing he could sneak away and call Russell. Darren had come to the awards show and had known something was up, both from the way Hugh interrogated him about what filming _Noah_ had been like and from the way Hugh thanked him for coming afterward, even on Twitter, with a kind of grateful urgency for the distraction.

Already breathless, Russell arches toward him, trying to impale himself. "Not going to last anyway. I almost came getting myself ready, knowing you weren't far away." Watching him, Hugh sinks in slowly, feeling the glory of Russell quivering around him as Russell's fingernails dig into his shoulder. "You were off with your X-Men! Should I be jealous?"

"Not for a second." Hugh rubs his thumb over the tip of Russell's cock as much to distract himself as to make Russell groan. He likes Fassy and Mac, they're good guys, but they seem like boys beside Russell, who's shuddering and bucking into his hand like a gift from God. He urges Russell's legs over his shoulders, pushing in deep, trying to take it slow but it's so hard when all he wants to do is claim Russell in every way possible. "I'm yours. There's only you for me."

Russell may have prepared himself but it still must burn to have Hugh thrust in so hard so fast, he's gasping, clawing at the sheets though there's no resistance. "Yours -- God -- too." Doing it without the condom makes it hotter in every way, the heat of Russell's body, the implied promise that there hasn't been and won't be anyone else. Russell's hips raise to push his cock through Hugh's fingers, matching Hugh's speed, Christ, they're both going to go off like kids if they don't slow down, and then it'll take hours like old men to recover. Hugh doesn't know if Russell has hours; this is stolen time. His time. He changes the angle, but that only makes Russell clamp down around his cock, making enough noise that if Hugh hadn't chosen the hotel carefully, someone might be able to overhear and put them all over the news. "Oh fuck! Missed you so much, missed this!"

It's almost too much, Hugh throws his head back, shaking all over before he regains enough control to growl down at Russell. "Going to fuck you all night, and again in the morning!" His hand moves jerkily on Russell's cock, he's not usually this rough even when Russell asks for it rough, but then he's not usually subjected to days' worth of wanting to gnaw his own fingernails because he knows Russell is going to be with the only person who really scares Hugh, even if it's supervised and even if it's only for a little while. Hugh growls again, and Russell's half-open eyes focus on his. "Can't give this up. You're mine, love."

Russell practically screams, ass clenching around Hugh's cock, and he comes like a geyser, spurting and spurting over Hugh's fingers. No way has he jacked off recently if he can come like this. Hugh knows him, he's fucked Russell enough times to know what Russell's body can and can't do, this is all saved for Hugh who tries to hang on but no way. Not with that hot ass clenching around his bare cock. Not with Russell crying out his name.

"Fuck, oh fuck!" He comes and comes, shaking hard, feeling Russell cling to him, panting, practically crying. Still gasping Hugh's name, though they're both breathless. Hugh sways once, toppling forward against him. "Fuck, Rusty, oh God, just...fuck."

Russell's arms slide up his back, holding him as Russell nods against the side of his face. "We did. Always will."

The voice is strained, and from this position Hugh can't tell whether it's emotion or pain. He raises his sweaty head, licking his own dry lips. "I didn't hurt you, did I? I got a little rough there."

This time Russell shakes his head, still sounding breathless. "Wanted it like that. You always give me what I want."

Hugh lets his sticky hand slide to the bed to take his weight so he can reach up with his clean hand to stroke Russell's cheek. "You're what I want." When Russell kisses his hand, he relaxes, finding a smile, the aftershocks finally subsiding. He drags a finger over Russell's lips and promptly whimpers as Russell parts his lips to suck on it. "Not done with you. Going to lull you to sleep, then wake you up with my cock down your throat."

Moaning around the finger, Russell squeezes Hugh's cock, which is still buried in Russell's ass, in no hurry to leave that warm shelter the way it would have to if they'd been using a condom. "You say the most romantic things, Jacko. You always have the best ideas. Does this mean I'm forgiven for New York?"

"Nothing to forgive." Gingerly, Hugh separates them, keeping Russell as close as he can. "You're the one who needs to forgive me for being a jealous prick."

"It's nice to know you have that side to you -- thought maybe it was just me." Hugh can hear the smile in Russell's voice. "Plus you threatened to punish me."

"Oh God, I was going to, I thought about turning you over my knee and making that ass pink, but I couldn't keep myself from pouncing on you once you were here."

As he speaks, letting his hands rove all over Russell's body, Russell's enthusiastic moans vibrate through him. Maybe it won't be all that long till Russell is recovered. "I love when you don't try to stop, whether it's spanking me or fucking me," Russell enthuses like Hugh promised him a birthday present. "Makes me think maybe you missed me as much as I missed you."

That might be just a figure of speech, but Hugh needs to make sure, pushing up to gaze at Russell. Jesus, Russell's going to be fifty in about a week, and Hugh's not far behind him. That clock never stops. "You don't think I missed you as much as you missed me?" he demands.

"I hope you did." There's something tremulous in Russell's smile. "I'm always afraid, when we can't be together, this is going to be the time you realize you could have someone younger and handsomer, who will always be there for you in person..."

"I _am_ going to spank you," Hugh interrupts, though he's frowning so that Russell will know he's not amused. "Haven't I told you enough -- fuck -- showed you enough? You're the one I'm in love with." Blushing, Russell nods and opens his mouth to say it back, though Hugh won't let him speak yet. "You're the only man I want. You deserve everything I give you." Russell is tugging him down, snuggling him close again, and Hugh lets himself be pulled against him. "This is my favorite place to be in the world."

"Mine too." Russell's fingers thread through Hugh's hair, even though Russell is more often the one who needs cuddling after sex. "You know how much I love you. I would give you anything."

"Just keep giving me this. So much that I get drunk with it."

Russell's chest buzzes with a chuckle. "I need to try that, getting drunk on love. You don't do what I do when you're not there, stop at pubs in every city on your press tour?"

Laughing, Hugh gives him a squeeze. "I did read your account of drinking your way across England, Scotland, Ireland, and Wales. You know I work out my sexual frustration instead of drinking."

"That's why you look the way you do and I look the way I do." Squeezing Hugh back, Russell urges him up for a kiss, and Hugh takes advantage of the moment to rub a hand over Russell's belly.

"I only look like this because they pay me to. I'd much rather eat fish and chips and drink beer with you." Since Russell is wriggling under his hand, Hugh reaches up to scratch his beard. "And I swallow a lot of protein when you're around."

"I make it just for you. So you can build those muscles." Russell winks at him. "And I try to give you good workouts."

"You'd better make it just for me." Neither of them can resist another kiss, or a third. "Or just for yourself. Fuck -- did you really wank on the plane?"

He loves that he can still make Russell blush. "I was afraid if I didn't, and I ended up seeing you in public before we could meet in private, I'd get an inappropriate erection and wind up in the papers." Hugh rubs his knuckles over a pink cheek and is rewarded with a kiss to the inside of his wrist. "I'm so glad we managed to be here at the same time."

"I just wish it could be longer." The day is starting to catch up with Hugh, the exhilaration that kept him smiling through the trailer tour fading into the exhausted comfort of having Russell right here with him. "I need you so much. Especially when I see you with other men."

"We'll have the night after my premiere. And we'll be together again soon, in New York and Sydney and everywhere." Again Russell pets through his hair. "And you never see me with other men. You just see me talking to them."

Sleepily Hugh nods at the correction. "I know, I know. I'll try to roar less when I see it."

"Did you roar? Out loud?" Hugh nods without speaking, relaxing against Russell as his hair is stroked. "Even though you know it was over with him since before I ever imagined I could have this with you? All I could think about was you. I left my mobile on for you. I missed my own movie for you."

"I told you, my heart knows it, but I couldn't help hating those pictures." Sliding a hand across Russell's chest, Hugh lets himself cling. "Even after I talked to you. It's almost worse now that I know he's a good guy. I liked hating him from a distance." He lifts his head for another kiss.

Russell smiles against his mouth. "I expect you to wake me up the way you said."

"You know I'm going to. You might even get that spanking." So sleepy, the words come out as a growl, which makes Russell shiver happily, like when Hugh growls at him deliberately. "I'll give you everything you want, love."

"You already have. You're here with me." It's the best way Hugh knows to show Russell he loves him in every way it's possible. He falls asleep in Russell's arms, and even though he has to get his picture taken with several X-Men and some train cars painted with their likenesses, he wakes up early enough to make good on all his promises.

He's scheduled up for the evening, too, but he insists on attending Russell's premiere. Darren is grateful for the publicity, and Jennifer smiles when she sees Hugh.

"My husband says hello. I just sent him a picture of you."

Staring like an idiot, Hugh tries to school his gaping mouth into something that can be explained if one of the hundreds of cameras surrounding them captures his expression. "Uh, tell him hi for me," he stammers.

A witty, naughty twist tugs at her perfectly sculpted lips, a look that hints at why both Russell and Paul enjoy her company so much beyond the beautiful exterior. "He said, 'See if you can catch them kissing,' but I thought the venue might be inappropriate."

Hugh can't hold back the grin that explodes across his face; he can only be glad that if people taking his photo, they won't know what she said to make him smile. He tries to summon sympathy for Paul, who's probably stuck babysitting across the Atlantic, doing phone interviews for the movie he has coming out in a few weeks -- not that Hugh goes looking to see what Paul is up to, exactly, but he can't help noticing that face and that voice in television ads. "Tell him sorry, bad timing," he replies to Jen.

Russell turns, catching his eye, seeing who's made him smile, and one eyebrow quirks curiously. The two of them will be going on to Paris while Hugh stays in London doing publicity for his own movie, and Hugh wonders whether he will be a topic of discussion. He walks over, pulling Russell away from the interview Russell's doing, reaching for a hug, and for an instant he can see that Russell thinks he might try to kiss him, hundreds of cameras be damned.

"Hello, brother," Hugh says, as Russell tells him, "Hello, mate." After London, there will be New York. And Sydney. Cameras capture the exchange, a voice shouts for them to sing. Hugh hums the line they sing together, and Russell joins him:

"I swear to you I will be there."


End file.
